Mitchell Symons - Dont Get Me Started

T HERES A SCENE in the 1953 film, The Wild One, where Marlon Brando, playing the prototypical Hells Angel, is asked what hes rebelling against. Whaddya got? he replies.

Well, thats how I feel when Im asked what it is Im so damned angry about.

Whaddya got?

And its not just the usual suspects politicians, hospital waiting lists, crime etc. its also the (supposedly) little things like pop-ups on the internet inviting us to buy software to stop pop-ups, being charged 3.20 for a small bottle of water in a hotel room minibar and fabulously wealthy film actors telling us that their first love is the theatre.

When Im done venting my spleen or, more likely, merely pausing for breath as my spleneticism knows no bounds, its my friends chance to unburden themselves. And they do.

So its not just me whos spitting blood, its also my friends and, by all accounts, their friends too. Were angry. Like Peter Finch in the film Network, we want to yell: Im as mad as hell and Im not going to take this any more!

Youll note, by the way, that I said angry and not grumpy. I know that grumpy is the word of the moment you might even say that it was all the rage. Except it isnt. Theres no rage in grumpiness just grim acceptance. The fact is, your average grump even enjoys his little whinges, whereas we angries risk cardiac arrest every time we open our mouths. We are, if you like, the provisional wing of the Grumpy Movement: theyre the infantry; were the commandos.

Anger is to grumpiness what a bottle of absinthe is to a half of mild and bitter or an AK47 is to a walking stick held aloft in a bit of a strop.

Let me give you some examples: People complaining about the weather, the use of n instead of and, the word affix as in Please affix your stamp here on official letters, blonde TV presenters with bad roots are all annoying and might even make delicate souls feel grumpy. But to arouse genuine boil-in-the-bag anger requires more, much more like cyclists treating red traffic lights as optional, people who pronounce the 8th letter of the alphabet as haitch, tripping over able-bodied beggars in London, and Michael Winner.

Nevertheless, theres no point in going from 0100 or Graham Norton to Brian Sewell without pausing to savour the horrors en route. So, taking a lead from Dante who had nine circles of hell, Ive arranged the book so that we move incrementally from the annoyance of the entries in .

But one theme runs through the entire book: from the beginning of Chapter 1 to the end of Chapter 7.

Weve had enough.

Were mad as hell and were not going to take it any more.

DONT GET ME STARTED!

Oh, all right then, DO .

SO THIS IS HELL . ID NEVER HAVE BELIEVED IT. YOU REMEMBER ALL WE WERE TOLD ABOUT THE TORTURE CHAMBERS, THE FIRE AND BRIMSTONE? OLD WIVES TALES! THERES NO NEED FOR RED-HOT POKERS. HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE!

Jean-Paul Sartre

CHARITY APPEALS MASQUERADING as surveys. They dont want to know what we think, they just want our money.

Being served Diet Cola when I order Diet Coke. Well, you said you wanted diet and this is diet Yes, dummy, Diet Coke not Diet Cola. Diet Coke is not a generic name for all Diet Colas especially not the penny-a-glass black piss youve just served me. Just because Diet Coke is a cola does not mean that all colas are Diet Coke. That is a syllogism. But then, if you could understand syllogisms, youd have been clever enough not to have brought me THE WRONG SODDING DRINK IN THE FIRST PLACE.

On Countdown, the continued pretence that the guest personality comes up with words when its obvious theyre being fed them from the gallery.

John Cleese. Fawlty Towers was sublime but it was more than thirty years ago. Still thinks hes funny. Alas, hes not.

Being caught talking to myself. Happens more often than Id like to admit.

Female professional tennis players grunting when they hit the ball. Some of them dont just grunt, they squeal as well ergh-uuuhh! like a sow thats enjoying a meal until, suddenly, her favourite piglet is abducted.

Any TV programme with house in the title. Except House.

Scowls from Big Issue salesmen when we decide not to buy their magazine. Look, its very simple, mate. Offer us something we want or need like an umbrella when its raining and we might be interested, but when weve got our hands full of shopping, the last thing we need is something else to carry, like your bloody magazine.

People who tell Big Issue sellers to get a proper job. No need: theyve been told before.

Seeing someones face in the mirror behind me while Im popping a spot.

Goats cheese. Why?

People who borrow your pen and then suck the top. A plague on them.

People complaining about the weather in Britain. Its paradise compared to most countries.

The Sainsburys slogan Try Something New Today. All right, I will. Ill go to Waitrose.

The Lord of The Rings films. I only saw one of them but it was the longest week of my life.

Star rugby league players who move across to rugby union and then fail to live up to expectations.

Local/regional theatre. Your all-star cast is headed up by Emmerdales

Fat women in low-slung hipsters. Wear the tents that fat shops thoughtfully provide for you, lard-arses.

The French attitude to infidelity. Mistresses are not uncommon in France. Consider the phrase cinq sept, which is used to signify the hours between the end of the working day and the return to the family home when a Frenchman visits his mistress. Such institutionalized immorality really does tell you everything you need to know about the French.

People who say fessing instead of confessing. Whats the matter, cant you afford the time it takes to utter an extra syllable?