I’ve just returned from helping a mate out at work move his stuff into a new flat. Sunday afternoon totally ruined as I was rather looking forward to sitting about in my pants playing on the PS2, something I haven’t indulged in since my brother moved out last year. But no, owning a white van isn’t all about driving round London like a cunt, it’s also about getting put upon by friends, family and colleagues, the latter I resent the most simply because it’s bad enough having to associate with most of them at work during the week. Spending ones leisure time with them isn’t on, so the pant/PS2 was sacrificed in favour of driving about in the pissing rain. Unluckily for my colleague my back is like caramel today so I couldn’t lift a finger to help him.
My fucking cold made a surprise return on Saturday morning. This may be because I hardly got any sleep. My mate came over with his two and a half year old son at 7 on the Friday, a lovely little chap, bright, full of beans with an obsession with fish. We three ate some roast chicken (I stuffed carrot, celery and onion up it’s arsehole this time, I must admit the lemon worked a little better so I hope you’re taking notes. I internally suggested to myself that onion and lemon would be favourite next time…) The little fellow crashed out at 8 after belting about the flat like a small tornado, I was subsequently exhausted but got a second wind after my mate and I got into the wines. We caught up over the evening which was accompanied by ‘Hostel’ a little disappointing on account of the very un-special effects but it had it’s moments, namely the brunette birds tits. At around midnight he joined his son leaving me with a bottle of wine and the TV, which, as fate would have it, was choca with rock. I watched a set by the much-hyped The View, essentially a group of very competent children regurgitating The Ramones, one of my favourite bands. There are a whole bunch of these bands at the moment; whilst I’m pleased that ‘rock’ is back, no one is actually doing anything particularly interesting leaving it to established acts to make headway. Anyway, by now I was whacked off my nipples so I was rather enjoying it. No idea what time I went to bed but it was after 3. The little lad woke up at 7, I was sleeping next door and as soon as I heard him I knew my time was up.
I managed to stir despite still being a bit squiffy, the boys had some breakfast and after a fond farewell, and some minor objections from the toddler, departed to the London Aquarium. Apparently he had a fucking brilliant time but screamed the place down when it was time to leave. I don’t know if his son enjoyed it (boom boom tish). After they had gone I went straight back to bed, I’d been invited to a party that night and was rather hoping the cold would dissolve in bed. Despite still feeling rank when I re-awoke at 2pm I did make the weekly shop where something rather odd occurred. At the checkout I was missing a bottle of Fleurie, I know I’d bought it because it was the only one of the 6 wines that I had specifically bought on account of itself rather than it being a considered discount choice. Anyway, it wasn’t on my till receipt so I figured it had rolled under a bunch of bags at the till. As I was walking away I glanced back and noticed that the fat women who had slammed down her groceries on the conveyer with such aplomb I’d shot her a glance of hate, had purchased the same pair of oven gloves as I (my last pair caught fire last week). When I unpacked the shopping at home the oven gloves, much to my annoyance, were absent. Again, I checked my till receipt and no oven gloves were mentioned. The fat cunt had been lifting stuff off the conveyor when I was packing… it beggar’s belief doesn’t it? What a fucking bastard. I hope her fanny falls off.
By 6 I still wasn’t feeling 100 per cent so I had to ditch the party which was a bloody shame, I spent the night in lolling about in front of the TV and radio sampling the wines that hadn’t been lifted by a mental. At about 11pm I got a call from my boss, the last person I was expecting to ring, who was at the office waiting for the police. Some turd had thrown a brick through the window, climbed in and nicked all our Macs. Without going into too much detail these machines store clients artwork so I so looking forward to tomorrow unravelling that little lot. Just what I need. Not.
Right, I’m done, off to eat a roast, have a glass of wine and if I’m very, very good, I’ll wash my winkie very fast in the bath.
