swede

On Sunday afternoon I had the misfortune of bumping into Cunt outside the flat. I’d popped downstairs to get my bicycle from the van in order to bring it inside to get the fucking puncture repaired. I’d heard Cunt leave his cave a few minutes previously so assumed I’d have at least 10 minutes to spare… I’d broken the first rule with Cunt, never, ever assume.

Now for the sake of argument let’s say I’m called Peter Worhormamergeratroid, As I was about to enter the flat with my bike and at the time, flat rear tyre, a hooded figure approached me from the left, ‘Excuse me’, it said, though instantly I recognised the honking congested twattery from it’s maw, ‘Have you seen Peter Worhormamergeratroid..? Oh it’s you!’ I weakly indicated with my mouth that I was doing a version of a ‘smile’ in an act of UN style appeasement. I muttered something about my tyre and left for the comfort of my flat.

Yesterday evening, following a punishing cycle from work I was virtually in the exact same place as I was when Sunday’s encounter occurred and once again, I felt the shudder of horror to my left… ‘Excuse me’, it said, my eyes lolled in their sockets, (Christ, no, not again) ‘Have you seen Peter Worhormamergeratroid..? Oh it’s you!’

Once I had got into my flat and had fully recovered from both the cycle and the unnecessary retard-inspired déjà vu I had a pleasant evening. Wednesday night is ‘house’ night starting with Relocation (x2) followed by Grand Designs, which I fucking love. I organised myself for everything to fall into place at 8pm, I’d eaten, bathed, showed myself to the Andrex (not in that order nor all at once) and was ready to go.

Relocation (x2) featured a baffling couple that actually baffled me away from the subject in hand; she was a Swedish girl, certainly attractive and very, very smiley. I can’t emphasis this latter point enough, mid way through the show she’d had a miscarriage though judging by the following interview you’d have thought she’d done a gram of grade one sniff after being informed she was the sole beneficiary to the Ikea fortunes. She greeted every property with an ‘Oh Wow’ smile (even if it was a barn without walls in one case) and, well, I was rather taken with her. He on the other hand was a greasy fuck-ball with an attitude the Third Reich would’ve found too pithy. Yet they were married and she clearly thought he was the best thing since the Volvo. I don’t get it.

Sadly the couple in Grand Designs were Welsh. The house they built was hideous; the interior resembled a music mogul’s office circa 1983 though they had gone some way to using environmentally friendly materials, they used a lot of Lime which actually absorbs C02 from the atmosphere as it sets for example, despite being a fucking tiresome pain to use.

I’d decided to go to bed and read but after a while found myself in bed watching Lock Stock and Two Sdmokinhgwgfwe FUCK etc. Whilst not as bad as The Business, or anything Nick Love directs with Danny Dildo, the best thing about it, bar none, is discovering during the end credits that one of the cast members had died.