So, here we are. Futile Fury.com. I registered the name about a year ago after yet another infuriatingly late night spent clasping my ankles, desperately trying to give a client the impression that there was nothing I would rather be doing with my Friday nights than making infinitesimal copy changes to their website.

"No, of course I don't have any other plans. This is your website, and we want to get it absolutely spot on. So what if it's not something your customers would ever notice, we'd know that last bullet point shouldn't have a full stop and I wouldn't be able to enjoy my weekend if we didn't take it out right now!"

Or something like that.

It always makes me laugh, one’s ability to lie so convincingly when called upon.
The phone rings. I recognise the number. It's her... again.
"Oh for f@*k’s sake, I wish that fu”%ing pedantic bitch would take her bloody phone and shove it up her no-doubt clinically tight a$$!"
Deep breath, affix grin (because you can hear it over the phone you know) and answer:
"Sarah! Hi, how are you doing? No, it's all great here, what can I do for you? You want me to drop my trousers and grease up again? Of course, no problem, I can’t imagine anything that would make my life more complete.”

And so, as the time drew inexorably nearer when I would be caught on a bad day and promptly lose my job, I decided an outlet was needed. Somewhere I could come to vent my frustrations about life, the universe and everything. And let me tell you, the list of subjects is a long one. Politics, money, celebrity, sport, London, the media; my fingers are positively tingling in anticipation at the spleen I am finally going to be able to vent.

I don't know whether I'm angrier than most. I certainly hope I am. The world doesn't stand a chance if there's this much rage in it!