19 October 2011 (Wednesday) - More Ranting
I was amazed to hear that in the current climate of recession and austerity and credit crunches, Costa Coffee is coining money in, hand over fist. Personally I begrudge paying the price of a jar of coffee for just one cup of the stuff, but it would seem that for all that no one has any money, and inflation is far outstripping wage increases, the Great Unwashed can find money to spend on expensive coffee.
I have colleagues who do this – admittedly the posh coffee is a bit cheaper in the works canteen, but it’s still a quid a cup, and these colleagues have two cups of the stuff. Every day. That’s a tenner a week on coffee!
Perhaps they can afford it by selling their “muck”. Up until now I’ve had a sneaking admiration for those who donate eggs. Sperm is dead simple to donate, but eggs are somewhat more difficult to extract. And so the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority is planning to give every egg donor a £750 bung. There was a very stupid spokeswoman from this fertility watchdog on the radio this morning. She was adamant that this £750 was to cover any expenses the donors might have incurred, but was equally adamant that she didn’t want to get bogged down with donors brining in receipts for their expenses.
Why on Earth not? I get my expenses paid at work. But I get exactly my expenses paid. I bring in a receipt, and I get paid (to the penny) what I spent. Surely these people should learn from the examples of overseas egg donation clinics in which the amount of donors goes through the roof every time there is a financial downturn.
And let’s get the terminology right – if there’s £750 to be made, eggs aren’t being donated, they are being sold.
Is that the price of a life? Over in China, life is even cheaper. A two year old girl was run over yesterday. The accident was caught on video. Whilst tragic, road traffic accidents happen. What really boiled my piss was the fact that the same video footage showed loads of passers by passing by, leaving the child bleeding. What kind of person could do that?
Meanwhile, it’s Wednesday, and so to the Stour Centre for a bit of swimming. Five hundred and twenty five metres in just under half an hour can’t be bad. And I realised something tonight. As a child I would swim at the White Rock Swimming Pool. And before you got anywhere near the pool, there was a footbath full of bleach to kill off any nasties on your tootsies. There’s no footbath at the Stour Centre. What’s that all about…?