Perhaps the discomforting spectacle of British MP’s of both red and blue hues falling over themselves in the headlong, Jack Straw inspired, rush to attack an already suspended hijabi teaching assistant… nah! not that. (Strange coincidence that the most outspoken government ministers in all of this are in constituencies where the traditional labour vote is in danger of defecting to the BNP next election night)

Or perhaps the sad revelation that a young Bangladeshi woman was driven to an infanticidal suicide by isolation. A kind of isolation, perhaps exacerbated by her in-laws or her inability to speak the language or just the isolation of being an home alone mum, that occurs all too often to Bangladeshi brides coming to this ‘Kingdom of Dreams’.

Or perhaps the depressing news of a Bangladeshi Imam being the subject of an alleged racist attack in his mosque.

Or maybe I could wax lyrical about a genuinely Bangladeshi nobel prize winner and the joy of all his countrymen at this richly deserved recognition of his pioneering work on microcredit, to alleviate poverty throughout the world.

No. What I need to get off my chest is the indecipherablity of the smegging symbols on smegging Smeg cookers. What smeghead of a genius decided to substitute simple words like ‘grill’ and ‘oven’ and ‘fan assisted’ with the oh-so-trendy-at-my-designers-tea-and-cocaine-party hieraglyphs.

I just wonder how many people have starved to death or even burned their houses down in vain attempts to cook a pizza.

Symbols can be frustrating and may even be considered plain wrong but sometimes, just sometimes, ranting against them might not be the most useful way of dealing with things.