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Fishing trawler. No bloody fish though

Plenty more fish in the sea
Not strictly true. Have you seen the programme Trawlermen? Well, it usually features the trials of Scottish fishermen in their hunt for shoals of cod, haddock and other stuff that tastes nice with batter on it.
The stories work to a standard format. Each week, two or three boats potter out to the North Sea, drop their nets for about five days and catch bugger all.
In the 50s and 60s fishing was a lucrative career because there were plenty of fish in the sea. Now there are not and more people in Scotland have been forced to take menial jobs in supermarkets. If we continue to fish at the current rate, we’ll have nothing more than a few shrimps and a couple of dogfish in our waters.
So if you hear someone say ‘there are plenty more fish in the sea’ simply cite the level of fish stocks compared to those in the North Sea in 1970. That’ll shut ’em up. 

How are you?
When people ask you this question they don’t really care about the answer. This is a conversation starter, pure and simple. If you respond to the question ‘How are you?’ with ‘My dad’s died, I’ve been made redundant, my wife’s had an affair and I’ve got terminal cancer’, they’ll retort, ‘Oh lovely. Well I was just calling to see whether you want to come along to the cinema with me to see The Inbetweeners tomorrow night.’
‘How are you?’ has no regard for the response. Why not simply say ‘Hello’ and get down to the real purpose of the conversation?
Listen to Radio Five Live for ‘How are You?’ abuse. Nicky Campbell will be asking listeners to tell us whether they think homosexuals should have their testicles nailed to skateboards because they don’t do what God intended and then some numpty from Carlisle asks Nicky: ‘How are you?’ Nicky, will respond ‘Fine thanks, what do you want to say?’
Campbell does this throughout the show and it is a wonder why he just doesn’t caution: ‘Please do not ask me how I am as a precursor to our brief conversation, because a) you don’t care and b) it’s none of your ruddy business.’

A new day is like a freshly plucked orange
Right, you get up, you open the curtains and it’s grey, dull and miserable. You turn on the television and there’s been another plane crash, traffic is at a standstill, unemployment is at an all-time high, the economy is on its arse and JLS are still making music.
Head for the kitchen. You’ve run out of milk. You put on an overcoat and walk to the local shop. There’s only full fat milk in two-litre sizes. You buy it, you walk back, you make tea.
You go in the bathroom and face the mirror. Still ugly, more grey hairs. You try a shower but your flatmate has taken all the hot water.
You walk to the train station. You get into the carriage. There are no seats. The person standing next to you is holding the overhead rail which means you are getting the full force of his body odour. The person standing behind you has an iPod. It’s at full volume, which means you are getting a tinny version of Lady Gaga blasting in your ear.
You arrive at your destination. You have been told a new round of redundancies is in the offing.
Another day has begun.
Anyone smell orange?