Charities. They do a lot of good work, I get it. They need pots of cash to do said good work, I get that too, but one of the charities I support, the Whale & Dolphin Conservation Society are really starting to get on my sizeable man tits. Every few months they call me up, hit me with some sob story about how things are particularly difficult right now and could I up my monthly contribution by another £10 a month?"No."
Then I get yet more sob story followed by a request to up my contribution by another £5 pounds a month?
"No."
This didn't go down too well, neither did my question about why the charity weren't out recruiting new donors instead of begging to their existing ones like a friend with a crack habit.
I support a few other charities, one of which is Riders For Health, a charity set up by the legend that is Randy Mamola to help medical care get into the wilds of Africa. They never call me begging for more cash, they always thank me for my contribution, they send me a quarterly news letter explaining exactly where my cash goes, and rather than play the guilt card, they actually make donating fun.
I got so pissed of with the whale huggers that I cancelled my monthly donation today. I think the woman on the other end of the phone would have had less contempt for me if I'd called up and told her that I'd just had violent reverse cowgirl intercourse with the entire maternity ward at my local hospital!
It looks like Sparta, my adopted Humpback whale, is on her own.
Swim Sparta, swim!
Swim away from men with slanty eyes and Kung Po Chicken, my cetacean friend!!
