"Maybe I’ll be able to get these cloven hoofs in Louboutins again"

THE Devil is flattered you imagine he can still afford designer clothing in this economy, but says you are sadly mistaken. 

 

The decline of Hell as a major financial power means the original Prince of Darkness no longer sports an expensive wardrobe, mostly turning to Primark or H&M for his essentials.

 

He sighed: “You have to remember, the last film came out in 2006, pre-credit crunch. I was no sooner getting my infernal paycheck than I was blowing it all on Chanel and Louis Vuitton. The film’s title was entirely accurate.

 

“But two decades of economic turmoil later on? After austerity, Brexit, Trump, bloody Covid? My days of swinging by Alexander McQueen are long gone. It’s all I can do to keep myself shod.

 

“We’re all tightening our belts, even in the abyss. I’ve had to take a pay cut to keep the demonic horde happy. I can’t be swanning into meetings in box-fresh Balenciaga. It’s Matalan, Shoe Zone and Sports Direct, which has multiple branches down here.

 

 “But the upcoming death toll we’re forecasting for humanity’s Q4 will really boost our turnover and I’m hoping to attract the big names to set up down here. Then maybe I’ll be able to get these cloven hoofs in Louboutins again.

 

“For now? I’m in Primark underpants. Honestly, I’ve had thicker and more durable loo roll.”

 

The Daily Mash

 

Of course. 

Tying Up Loose Ends

 It's taken me a week to get over the Ten Day Blogging Challenge thingy but before I move on to business as usual, I have a couple of things to say and a couple of loose ends to tie up.

 Firstly, the 10DBC has given me new found respect for the likes of Jon (who was the unwitting inspiration behind the challenge), Mistress Maddie, and Mr Tonking who can often be found teetering at the top of my Sideboard thanks to their daily blog posts.  Their commitment to blogging and, therefore, entertaining us each day, cannot be underestimated - they are an inspiration!

 Secondly, big thanks to Ms Scarlet who was the instigator of the 10DBC - taking up the mantle of the Daily Blogger when Jon departed for sunnier climes - and to Savvy who took over when Ms Scarlet's ten days were up.  Your efforts were the motivation I needed to see this through myselves.  Thank you.

 Now, on to those loose ends:

  1. I do NOT work in Warhammer.  Although, I think The Very Mistress might have posed for one or two of these little sculptures unless I'm very much mistaken?

 

Apologies for the poor image clarity.  I couldn't get any photos without loads of reflections and this is the clearest I could make them after messing around with the contrast and shadows etc.

Bluebells and Black Shuck

 Another weekend, another round of clear skies and sunshine.  Although, the North-East wind is keeping things cool here, and we could do with some rain because everything needs watering.

 Still, I shouldn't grumble as its conducive for ambling around the countryside, demon dog or no!

The way up Toll's Hill is lined with bluebells

Behold!  The terror that is Black Shuck!

 

 On remote costal tracks in North Norfolk, beware of Black Shuck - a terrifying demon dog that will leap into your arms and expect to be cuddled like a baby while he licks your ear.  Until - after about three seconds - he gets bored and wriggles out of your grasp to go and investigate a nearby hedgehog turd or similar.

Messy Maths

 I've just heard from The Mother that after Indescribable, The Little Witch and Babyzooky came to visit us over Easter, they went to see Indescribable's husband's family. And guess what? Both of his brothers along with a couple of others (wives? children? other family members? - I wasn't paying attention) got the two bob bits!

Thankfully, I don't have any
photos of her other end!

 Indescribable mentioned that Babyzooky had been off her food for a few days and had produced some astoundingly messy nappies (diapers).
 Two and two were put together and the resulting four looks an awful lot like that toxic little scumdrop, Babyzooky, was almost certainly the cause of our Game of Porcelain Thrones over Easter. She is Patient Zero. Our own little Typhoid Mary.
 Indescribable is so proud!

Game of Porcelain Thrones

 Oog.  There's a reason I haven't been around much this Easter: Food poisoning!

§

 On Thursday, Inexcuseable and I prepared a birthday tea for The Father (it was his birthday on Wednesday, but we were both at work late on the day). It was a bit of a rush job, as I was out with Indescribable all afternoon house hunting (some of the larger ones can get up quite a clip, and the smaller ones are a bugger for finding once they've gone to ground) - she's looking for a place up here on the coast as she's got a new job. 
 When we got back to Castlette DeVice, I bunged a load of potatoes in the oven to bake, then set about decorating the cake I'd made that morning. Meanwhile, Indescribable returned to The Parents' to collect them, The Little Witch (née Babyzilla) and Babyzooky. Inexcuseable then arrived to sort out all the trappings to go with the potatoes (cheese, tuna, salad etc.) and try and wake her husband (who'd been at work since ridiculous-o'clock and, upon returning, immediately fell into a sleep deep enough to inspire a maleficent fairy spurned from a royal christening, or something).

The view west from the clifftop at Trimingham - That's Sidestrand in the distance. Indescribable and I looked at a couple of houses near here.

Mind your step!

Troll bridge

Last week, there was a troll under the bridge I use to cross the river and get to work. Luckily, it seemed only to be visible to Cusp dwellers, the undead, the almost undead (i.e. me) and goats* rather than the general public. I mean, can you imagine the uproar if commoners caught sight of a bloody troll? It'd be like Cloverfield all over again. Although on a slightly smaller scale...



Anyway, I first saw it on Thursday as I was crossing Riverside Road in front of the train Station. Luckily, it was just returning to it's lair under the Foundry bridge [image via] after trying to eat Fekxzl, the Aviva (nee Norwich Union) Hell Portal demon. Quite why it didn't eat him I don't know, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it may have been due to Fekxzl's personal hygiene. Or lack thereof. So, I obscured myself and crossed the bridge hoping that the troll would have moved on by the time I left work.
It hadn't. I could see it lurking as I approached from Prince Of Wales Road. I was positive that it hadn't spotted me, so I obscured myself again and crossed the road hoping to get lost amidst a crowd of youths going the same way and make it safely to the other side. I almost made it, too. Almost.

It leapt up spitting and drooling, totally ignoring the tasty teenage delinquents (and in turn was ignored by them - After all, teenagers are more often than not far too self absorbed to notice anything other than themselves), fixating it's bloodshot gaze squarely at me. It gave me quite a start, let me tell you!
I glanced around just in case it was glaring at someone (or something) else, but my immediate vicinity was devoid of troll-prey. Having no other choice, I confronted the slavering beast and, after much sidestepping to avoid the dripping slobber, convinced it to eat a couple of the teenagers who were at that point slouching around at the other end of the bridge. To be fair, they were horrible little monsters and quite probably were actual demon spawn.

What I didn't appreciate was being thanked by the troll - with it's mouth still full of teenager - for pointing out the young and tender option, rather than just letting it eat a tough and stringy looking me!



* Norwich, being slap bang in the middle of a farming county, still sees it's fair share of farm animals wandering the streets. Although, the main type of farmyard creature found at large here are ducks, rather than goats.

An unpleasant entry

The garden was barely visible. A thick blanket of fog had fallen and was doing a remarkably good job of obscuring anything more than two or three metres away. I sighed and turned back to the soup.
And snapped my head back again as something out there caught my eye.
Did something move out there in the garden? Did something big just cut a swathe through the fog, only to have it rapidly close in again after it? Was I imagining things? Again?
Probably. I turned back to the pan of soup.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

I jumped as I stirred the soup that was gently warming on the hob and spun towards the back door. A swarm of filthy, disgusting flies buzzed in through the gaps around the pulled-to door, causing me to recoil in horror. Before they reached me, the flies quickly coalesced into a figure. It was Izzkt. Or at least most of him - The rest was probably stuck to the fly-paper coils hanging in the sunroom.

"Ooh, I do wish you wouldn't do that" I said, holding my nose. "I told you I'd call you when it was ready. Pheeewwww!"

669

* Brrrriiing brrrriing - Brrrriiing brrrriing - Brrrriiing brrrri- *

“Hello?” a frail old voice answered. Momentarily nonplussed, I didn’t respond. “Is there anyone there?” she asked.
“Ummm…” Oh, great start. I rolled my eyes with some assistance from The Host’s SubC. “Ummm… I don’t suppose Lucifer’s home, is he?
“Who, dear?”
“Lucifer. Um.”
“Lucy? Eh?” There was some rustling before the voice muttered “Let me turn my hearing aid up...”
“Look” I said getting a little impatient, “Is he in? Are you his mum?”
“Oh, no, dear. I don’t have any children” she said.
Bugger, I seethed to myselves. I must’ve dialled the wrong number. Before I could say anything else, the old woman resumed talking.
“Ooh, there was that nice young man who lived here before me? I can’t remember his name. He had a lovely tan, though. If a bit on the red side. And a bit pointy, as I recall. Especially his hair. Looked like horns, it did!” She paused, but only for a second. “D’you know, it’s three years to the day since he moved out and I moved in. Fancy that! The old memory isn’t as bad as I thought.”
Weary from her diatribe, I tried to cut her off. “Excuse me. Do you have a forwa-“
“Oh!” She suddenly exclaimed. “And he had ever such a long-”
I shuddered and slammed the phone down before my imagination could run riot with whatever embarrassing horror the old bat was about declare.

Almost Haunted

"Pass me that Woman's Weekly, would you?"
"What?"
"The magazine. Pass it to me."
"This one?"
"No. The one with Nanette Newman on the cover holding a washing up liquid bottle and a knitted uterus."
"Here you are-"

* c r r e e e e e e e a k *

Three seconds into the fallen silence, someone whispered: "What was that?" We all looked around wildly, searching for the source of the chilling creak. Suddenly, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle sat up straight and tutted.
"Oh, crap" he said as the door at the far end of the room opened fully.
"Wha-" Sir Isaac Newton began before this happened:



"Shit. It's Yvette Fielding and the Most Haunted crew." Marie Curie rolled her eyes. "We'll never get any peace now. Go on" she said, glaring at me. "It's your turn to frighten them off."
"But... But, I'm not even properly dead!" I hissed.
"Close enough."
"But-" I tried again but was cut off.
"Look. You've been hanging around with us ghouls for long enough to pull your weight when it's needed. And it's needed now. We're bored of scaring off that wailing, shrieking harridan.
"I-" I began.
"No excuses. Just get rid of her" Marie paused, a look of diabolical evil lit up her ghostly face brighter than the radiation that lingered from her life, "or we'll revoke your haunting license."
"Yes" Rod Hull interrupted. "We know you've 'amended' it from haunting to stalking. That poor boy..."
"Oh, OK, then" I sighed in blackmailed resignation.
"Be careful of her monstrous hair" John Inman warned. "Beryl got trapped in it last year and we haven't seen hide nor hair of her since."
"And she had a lot of hide, the fat cow" Sir Arthur sniggered.
"Hey! You shouldn't speak ill of the dead" Rod exclaimed, horrified.
"I don't see why not - She hated me, and I'm just as dead as she is. P'raps even deader."
"Shut up, you two" Marie scolded. "C'mon, let's go to the cinema while IDV gets rid of Yvette."
"What's on?"
"Star Trek."
"Star Trek? Really? I thought that had died a death years ago?"

- - -

And that's how come I haven't seen Star Trek yet. Maybe next week?

Come Hell or highwater

Whilst out pottering around in the garden earlier, the demons Grnnthargl and Izzkt walked by. Well, when I say walked, I mean Grnnthargl made an effort at bipedal locomotion, only using his wings to balance himself occasionally, whereas Izzkt just buzzed in and out of existance keeping up. I find it most disconcerting seeing Izzkt in motion - it reminds me of the static from an untuned TV channel. Then there's the smell...

I looked up from my weeding when I heard the buzzing, but was too late to avert my gaze and prevent eye contact*, once I realised who they were. I thought I'd doomed myself to an interminably long and boring conversation with the two infamously dull demons, however, Grnnthargl almost immediately said he couldn't stop and chat. I was rejoicing inside, but couldn't help wondering why he was so uncharacteristically keen to move on. As three of his eyes were focused elsewhere, I followed their gaze, spying Beaky in the cherry tree, glaring down at us malevolently. Ah, so Beaky has a use after all. Even demons were terrified of him!

Anyway, according to Grnnthargl, it seems that the charge for opening Hell Portals is to increase significantly in the near future. So much so, in fact, that I may have to resort to more efficient but less convenient methods of transport to Hell. One of which is to go down the old 'Death' route again, but it would mean leaving my physical body here while I visit, and the reanimation process afterwards does take a while. I know I'm already a little bit dead, but that just won't cut it anymore.

I don't suppose anyone else has any sure-fire ways of getting to Hell?



* Of course, I could only make contact with two of Grnnthargl's five eyes.

Final Destination

I awoke the next morning to hear the front door creak open. Hooray! I thought. They're off! Sadly, when I got downstairs I discovered that they'd only gone outside for a smoke. How disappointing. However, Tazzy & Piggy's bad habit (one of many), gave me a fabulous idea to get rid of them once and for all...

When they came inside, demanding tea and toast, I suggested another quick tour of the city to see the bits we missed out on the day before. Car agreed to accept them into its interior and chauffeur them around once it heard my plan for Tazzy & Piggy's good riddance.

I cackled to myself as they wolfed down hot buttered toast, washed down with tea. Piggy sat on the settee, his legs dangling, little trotters barely touching the floor as he wrote part one of their take on their time in Norwich.

After a quick stop off at the docks, just so they could see the sight of my alleged 'other occupation', I led them - rubbing my hands together with glee (and also casting a powerful, protective hex around myself at the same time) - to what I hoped would be their final destination:


Norwich Cathedral! It seems our arrival had been foreseen, although we turned up three weeks early...
I stepped over the threshold feeling a not entirely unpleasant stinging, burning sensation - I should've cast a stronger hex. Still, my discomfort was quickly forgotten as I turned to see what would happen to the two dirty, filthy poofs in my wake.
To my horror, they crossed over into the cathedral entirely unscathed! No burning flesh. No bolts of lightning incinerating them. And no giant sandle-wearing animated foot descending from the heavens to squash them! Hmmmph.
Oh well, as we were here, I thought we'd better make the most of it and have a look around.

I would write about the magnificent architecture and all, but I really can't be arsed. I forgot my camera, too, so you'll have to rely on the pics from Piggy & Tazzy's version of events Part Two. If they ever post it.
Anyway, we stopped off in the cathedral shop and laughed at the hideous tat that was on sale. Although, the Yorkshire Poofs actually seemed to like some of it, strangely. What wasn't strange was the consternation they caused. Tazzy bought a Benedictine Monk Bear and said "Cheers, love" to the prim woman behind the counter as she handed it over in a paper bag. Well, she almost keeled over at the shocking 'Oop North' talk. It's a good job there were some Norfolk Lavender smelling salts on hand to revive her. At least Tazzy had the decency to to look ashamed at his lack of decorum.
Piggy, on the other hand, had no qualms about swearing in the refectory and eyeing up a plain-clothes transvestite as we sat having a coffee. At this point however, after nearly 24 hours in his company, I wasn't fazed by it.
I should mention that we nearly didn't make it to the refectory for coffee. It was only one level up, but Piggy insisted on using the lift to get there rather than wear his little legs down even more by tramping up the stairs. Well, we got in the lift, pressed the button and began our ascent. Only for it to shudder to a halt halfway up before plummeting down again. Oh no! I thought. We're on an express-elevator to Hell! We'd been lulled into a false sense of security and now were trapped. Luckily, the lift shuddered to a stop where we first got in and we were able to pile out safely and ascend via the stairs.

And now, thankfully, they're gone. I must admit, it was lovely to meet them in person, especially as they must have been on their best behaviour. There was very little uttering of the cunt-word, no farting (that I heard or smelt, anyway), plenty of blog-gossip and they didn't barge into my bedroom in the middle of the night. Well, not that I recall. If they did, the experience was so horrific that I've managed to blank out the memories.
However, I still haven't dared pull back the duvet on their bed for fear of what horrors lurk beneath. Well, you'd hesitate too if you'd heard their tales of pant-shitting and bed-wetting!



P.S. I've managed to post a picture of T&P on the previous post, now.

Time to leave

The villagers bayed and cheered as the balance rose. Once more the figure strapped to the other end disappeared beneath the duckweed covered surface.

The breath wouldn't last, the accused thought in resignation. This was the seventh time. Each submergence had been longer than the last. More taxing than the last. Or maybe it just felt that way? Whichever, this was the one, the unfortunate accused knew. The scant time above the pond's surface was barely enough to take even the shortest breath, never mind a lung full. This was the one. Would the Hellfires await?

Hellfire! That was it!

In the murky green depths, The Sign was made with fingers tied beneath the worn smooth wooden balance. Suddenly, the gloomy, pressing cold was replaced with a fierce light and an even fiercer heat. A deep breath was inhaled, taking in fire and sulfur and brimstone. The balance beneath hurtled skywards as internal organs blazed.

Those most curious at the pond's edge had already been flash burned when the water boiled instantaneously into steam. The rest were frozen in shock and incredulousness. The witch was catapulted into the evening sky, the rope bonds had dissolved into ash. The exhalation of Hell from the witch's lungs rained down on the remaining villagers, immolating them where they stood, transfixed and now aflame.

As the charring flesh crawled back on itself, the consciousness inhabiting the body translocated in vain. Desperately searching for a suitable host.


Fortunately, the 'Tower was down during the inversion...

Forsooth, it is the Apocalypse!

There will be massive electrical storms, the likes of which have never been seen.

There will be an intense, baking heat, the like of which has never been felt.

We will eat naught but burning hot coals, and drink naught but burning hot cola.

Flesh will char on bone.

Rock will dissolve to dust.

Metal will flow like water.

Air will -



Oh, hang on...



False alarm. I'd left the oven on again.

Pooped party

Finding myself bored to tears at yet another insufferable post-Christmas party, I excused myself into the party host's back garden, pretending that I wanted a fag*. Once behind the philodelphus away from prying eyes - and those with a good sense of smell** - I opened a Hell Portal, grudgingly paid the toll fee and slipped into somewhere more comfortable.

Demons certainly know how to throw a good party. The best guests, the finest food and the most illegal drinks. They even serve Romulan ale sometimes! So, Satan only knows what had happened to this particular party I'd crashed. Most of the guests, if they'd even bothered to turn up, had left. The host, a rather corpulent demon, sweated copiously as he filled his rather ample face with titbits, Nipples of Venus if I wasn't very much mistaken. Although, judging by his distended stomach, they were probably from Diana of the Ephesians.

Hardly able to believe that I'd left one hideous dive for another, I headed out back towards the servants quarters. After all, it's a universal constant that servants have better parties than their masters employers. Look at Dirty Dancing for example (I'm not explaining it. If you haven't seen it, so don't know what I'm going on about, then shame on you! It's worth it if not just for Patrick Swayze in his 'pre-leatherette' days).

Wandering past the Infernal Stables of the Abominable Steeds, I heard music and voices. Aha! A party! Heading towards the sounds, my spirits lifted. I hastily grabbed hold of them and stuffed them back in our body. I couldn't let them loose down here - I might never get them back! As I got closer, the voices and music - Scissor Sisters by the sound of it - became clearer.


How do you make a lady?
How do you make a lady?
How do you make a lady?
I'll show you one more time.

"Will you turn that down" one of the voices screeched. It sounded vaguely female.

"What?" barked a second voice.

How do you make a lady?
How do you make a lady?

"I can't hear myself think!" the first, rather strident, voice exclaimed.

"You don't need to think to do what I have in mind" a third, lascivious voice, oozed.

Hey hey baby.
Maybe you can show me your lady
and we can make a lady tonight?

"What?"

"Oh, come on. You know you want to. Take that off..."

"Get your filthy claws off me!"

* stamp *

"Oww!"

"What?" 

Her name is (Barbara) Barbara (Jackson) Jackson.
That is her name.
Her name is (Barbara) Barbara (Jackson) Jackson.

"They're not filthy."

"You're riddled with disease, you sex mad freak!"

"Mmmm... Thank you." 

Her name is Barbara Jackson.
How do you make a lady?

"Has anyone seen Pinky?" Ah, someone else.

"What?"

"That bloody rat hasn't escaped again, has it?"

"Leave my hair alone!" 

"Pinky isn't a rat" the fourth voice whined.

"Urrgrh... You've got syphillis as well as genital warts?"

"He's a gerbil."

Barbara Jackson is my name
and I don't play no game

"I'm not falling for that again. What did I just say?"

* smack *

"Arrrggh! What was that for?" 

My name is Barbara Jackson
and that's what you should call me.
My name is Barbara Jackson
but you don't ever call me.
You don't ever call me.

"Pardon?"

I'm making her from faberge
I'm making her from fabric
I'll put her in some neglige
I'll conjure her with magic


Drat! I'd only stumbled across The Four Stablehands Of The Apocalypse: Petulance, Vermin, Warts and Deaf.







Bugger.


* Of course, I don't smoke, but he didn't know that. Unless he did and thought I was going out for a bit of cock? How very VERY dare he make such assumptions. I'll get him later. And not just for the cock assumption, but the crappy party, too.

** Hell does pong a bit. All that sulphur, you see...

Sister blister

"Christ All Mighty!"

"Switch it off! Switch it off!" I screeched. Indescribable was gripping the shaft so tight that her knuckles looked like they were about to pop out of her skin.

* CRASH! *

"Arrghh! My shin!" she yelled, letting go of the broom which shot across the room, smashed through the window and tore off into the sky. I stared after it, wide eyed.

"You silly, stupid cow" I said, turning towards her with my hands on my hips. Indescribable looked up at me and stuck her tongue out. It was yellow. She'd been eating pear drops again. "This is exactly why mum wouldn't let you have a broom, because you're a thoughtless, selfish, clumsy, oblivious shit! My left hand, controlled by Subconscious, started to make the sign of a hex. Unfortunately, Indescribable saw and bound it quickly. Cow! I rolled my eyes in a manoeuvre Fuckkit would be proud of.

Indescribable got up off the floor and untangled herself from the table leg she'd banged her shin on. "Can't you go after it? You've got another broom, haven't you?" she whined. Daggers practically leapt from my eyes.

"Yes I have. But by the time I get the ancient thing started the one you lost will be in orbit!"

"Well. You should take better care of your things" she mumbled quietly.

"WHAT?!" I shouted. Indescribable flinched. I had involuntarily opening a Hell Portal behind me, such was my anger.

Just inside the Portal sat Fekxzl, the demon from Norwich Union. I had forgotten they'd taken over the franchise. Tapping his foot impatiently, he asked " ar yar sendin' enywun in'r nut?"

"What?" Fekxzl wasn't very good with his speech and capital letters were a foreign concept to him. It took me a couple of seconds to work out what he was on about. "Oh. No. Sorry."

He looked Indescribable up and down and sneered. "ackk. y'can keep 'er." And with that, he closed the Portal and vanished.

Narrowing my eyes, I turned back to my sister. "I get charged for opening one of those now, you know. I should've chucked you in." Indescribable just shrugged.

Sighing, I tried to remember where I'd put my spare broom...





Bugger.

Incendiary DeVice

This afternoon I opened a Hell Portal on my way back from work. Unfortunately, I didn't check my mood first...

A raging fireball tore across the city, radiating outwards from my position. Great gouts of flame spewing from the pulsating fissure. Huge swathes of sulphurous fire blasting into the evening sky.

Whoops. Sorry.

At least I was warm and that's what counts, right?

Oh. And I accidently torched my heliostat and the packet of hemlock I always carry.

Bugger.

Update: It's just been pointed out to me that this could be misconstrued as poo-air. It is not. I don't do that kind of thing. After all, I'm a very respectable (ahem) witch...

How to keep warm

I was walking - yes walking, using my own legs - to work this morning, on the verge of freezing solid when I had a fabulous idea. Why not engulf myself in the Fires of Hell to keep warm? Everyone knows that witches and gays are going straight to Hell so why not start now and get used to it?

So I did.

I opened a portal, knowing that most humans wouldn't see the flames - well, they only see what they can comprehend, luckily - and basked in Hell's warming glow as I perambulated into the city (I've always wanted to use that word:perambulated). Having been there a couple of times, I knew where in Hell the best flames could be found.

I did get an odd look from one of the Demons that works in Norwich Union, who was walking on the other side of the street, but I ignored it - it was only jealous that I'd thought of the idea first.

- pzzt . . . szszppt . . . susuzpptszz . . . pzz ... -

Oh.

I've just been told that gays can't open portals - zzst . . . psszzt! - Sorry. Gays can't open Hell portals. It seems other types of "portals" are perfectly accessible to the average gay... Well, for any that are interested: next time I'm in the Castle (the pub, not the big building that overlooks the city) I'll be doing a demonstration on how to open your very own gateway to Hell so you too can keep warm in these cold, dark times.

And, I'm still seeing things that are really there (see last post) - it's really off putting. I shall be having words...