Why the world conspires to make me angry

Yesterday started off as such a pleasant ol' day. I had lunch with my friend and her crying baby - *the cute little darling* - and we took him to see santa clause, a frankly scary old man with a polish-accent, a really bad wig and an ill-fitting beard who sat inside a giant christmas tree waiting for little children to visit him.... Then later in the evening I went late-night shopping and found the perfect bag, which to my great pleasure and surprise was discounted by 20%. And later on as I sat drinking coffee with my gorgeous new purchase sitting quietly next to me, I thought what an angelic perfect baby I have, all shiny and new and not making a fuss. Plus it had the added benefit of matching my outfit. And then I considered that thought and realised only people without kids can look upon new bags as babies. But is that really so wrong?

And then I had a nice meal with M, and the evening was going so well until it came time to leave. Four fat middle-aged suits (lets call them Pigs) sat at the end of the row of tables, having arrived at 11pm to "'ave a curry 'an a beer". The clientele till that point had been very nice and polite. But these guys pushed their chairs far back towards the wall and placed all their coats, bags etc in the way, thereby blocking the exit. As I got up to leave I had to walk past them, so I asked quite politely "Excuse me, can I get through?" And they sat for a while and considered that statement, and then finally moved their fat arses. One of them said something but I ignored it. As I was putting on my coat he kept saying the same thing, and its only on the fourth time he said it that I realised he was saying "Say please!" And not in a funny jovial manner, but in a demanding arrogant way. So I looked at him and his companions and said in a sardonic manner, "Oh excuse me! Thank you! Please. (And like George in Seinfeld when he was offered the ketchup from the couple sitting behind him in the cafe) Very gracious.." Then I went to the bathroom. But the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Why should they demand I say please? Who the hell were they? The frigging polite society out on a social excursion? So I came back and as I was leaving I said to M, "There's a lot of racist testosterone in the air tonight..." But they didnt hear that. So I said a bit louder as we walked past them while making eye-contact with one of the pigs, "So rude, so f*king rude!" They heard that and they all turned around and watched us leave.

When you think about it, it's such a small thing. But it really kind of ruined the night. The great meal, the great purchase, all spoilt by four fat pigs. And all I could think of was I hope they contract e-coli, or have the worst horrendous curry cramps that have them bed-ridden for weeks, or they accidentally fall down the stairs and stab themselves in the eye. I wish I could've grabbed the glass of water sitting next to the sayplease pig and splashed it in his face and said please as I did it. Arrrrggggh. Londoners can be real shits sometimes. Four years in this city has definitely contributed to making me angry.

What annoys me most, is that these fat middle-aged suits feel that they have some inherent right to the world. That being at the top of the food chain, they can demand what they want of those they deem below them in the pecking order. They are the ones in their pinstriped suits carrying their pointy golf umbrellas sideways in crowded tubes, they are the ones who work in the square-mile of the City earning megabucks and blaming the breakdown of society on single mothers as they sip their £5 cappuccinos, they are the ones who have made this world the f*cked up place it currently is - I mean lets just look at our political "leaders" shall we. What great icons of admiration they be.

OK, so anyway, I've vented. I'm off on a girls weekend to Milan, so any Italian suits better watch out. Which considering how everyone dresses up in Italy means this weekend could be a whole lotta trouble! Which is why I've already started by brushing up on my Italian - Cuolo di schimia and Vaffanculo should come in handy.