People love a good moan, myself included.
Nothing like a really heartfelt rant over an inanimate object that you have no chance of changing.
'You (meaning the local transport authority) should do something about that sun, it's blinding at this time of year!'
Posh car, expensive perfume and arrogance very much on show.
I cheerily pointed out to the annoyingly chic lady that the powers extended to municipal government do not actually extend to moving the Sun a few feet higher, but helpfully added I'd have a quiet word with God next time I saw her.
In the beautiful town of Bayeux, I stood in the very pretty and very narrow streets, enthralled by the very large American gentleman suggesting very seriously that they would get a whole lot more parking for tourists if they knocked down a few of the very old buildings.
Chitzen Itza, Mexico. Fantastic ruins and fascinating history. But….
The guy from Yorkshire had a really good moan to the guides that the place would be a lot bloody better if they moved the whole bloody lot nearer to his hotel in Cancun!
Nothing, it seems, however perfect it is, will ever actually be, well, perfect.
The pyramids? Too close to the city.
Disneyland? Too many bloody kids running around.
Stonehenge? Way too far out of the way just to see a few old stones.
And so it goes on. Nothing will ever be perfect enough to escape a good moan. We Brits are experts at whingeing – ask the Aussies.
If I do ever have that word with God, preferably over a nice glass of red, I will humbly ask her that she make a nice twisty road. A road running from my house, with nice interesting twisty bits. A road bordered by all the interesting sights in the world that I could ever wish to visit.
A never-ending tank of fuel and a reasonably warm eternal day.
I'd ride that road forever, stopping to gawp and photograph, never moaning, never complaining.
Until I got to the end, and had to do that long ride back….boring, seen that, been there, done that!
You just can't please some folks.