I’m sorry to hear of the demise of Woolies. As a kid, growing up in a village, the nearest Woolies had a faint whiff of ‘this place has everything!’ wonderment. It seems almost absurd now but Pick n’ Mix was beyond ones comprehension, I mean not just any sweet but EVERY sweet all in one magical place all just sat there, loose.
On Saturday IC and I went in to Woolies to get some Pick n’ mix, it didn’t really sink in that I’d not done such a thing since being very young where the whole picking and mixing was overseen by a mum on a budget on rare occasions. IC only really wanted those liquorice wheels but I insisted on all sorts of tat, mainly those big squishy jelly things which surprised me. I challenge you to go to a Pick n’ Mix before Woolies goes for good and see what you end up with, bet you surprise yourself. Bet you can’t be fucked to bother in the first instance.
I’m not feeling overly cheery today; in exactly one month I’m going to be 40. Forty. Fucking hell. To celebrate this most dreadful of occasions I’m going to round the year off with an essay on this matter. I intend for it to be a really long, dull and humourless rant about why I didn’t get my own way after spending a good 20 years stoned out of my tree and hungover. I deserved everything despite doing nothing and I still can’t work out why I find this desperately unfair. The cunts.
Though it’s not all bad, God has told me that if I kill and dismember my neighbour he’ll make all the bad things go away.
November 26th, 2008 at 11:08 am
I’m not wasting my time reading this! Not when there’s foul deeds aboard an online, trans-continental express train to investigate! If, like me, you’d rather be solving a confusing mystery that’s got something to do with prostitutes, head over to my site now and play Birder on the Whoreient Hexpress! It’s the only internet competition where a landmine is the prize!
November 26th, 2008 at 11:44 am
You should pay for this sort of advertising. Send me your drugs at once