I’ve no idea how this bitch thinks she has a claim on the money I legitimately received after she, her bank and her solicitors made an utter pigs ear of the purchase of that fucking house in Tooting last November, but apparently she can. Whatever happens this will cost me money, just for my solicitor to respond to a letter costs bloody money and as he’s now working as ‘my solicitor’ rather than the legitimate facilitator in the sale of a property with fixed rates etc., I’m already staring in the chasm of £?.
I’m still waiting for my new purchaser to pull her finger out too, the whole fucking thing is a nightmare, the connection to Cunt is as intact as it was the day I moved out which displeases me immensely and I’m skint again after paying off debts and generally treating the money to come as a given, which it’s not, of course.
In more disappointing revelations the rock salt on the roads hasn’t done Brutta any favours, her engine casing looks as if she’s a dose of the pox. Salt is a corrosive and it has a particular taste for fresh aluminium and steel, the latter has a propensity to rust after the salt has made an inroad so my fucking once pristine exhaust pipe, where it arrives off the manifold, looks like a shitty dick. But this news is only afforded to me because for the second time this year I rode into work, which is wonderful and signifies a new upbeat tone for the rest of today’s post, sort of.
The ride into work was magnificent, save the part where I was nearly killed under the wheels of a fucking lorry making a surprise right hand turn as I was overtaking some traffic in the City. It was down to pure skill on my part that I managed to stop without skidding, and it was a little more than fortunate I’d both brakes covered or you wouldn’t be reading this.
Having to suddenly brake is one of those things all road users are required to do from time to time. You see something that requires immediate action, such as the side of a lorry, and you brain shrieks ‘brake,’ after that it’s a question of time as to whether one will, or won’t, make good of the situation. In this space between braking and the subsequent conclusion of your actions, time warps, it slows whilst your mind zips along in nano seconds for solutions to the matter in hand.
It’s one thing to brake hard in a car to avoid a collision; on a bike there are additional factors to contend with. For a start one has two brakes that need spontaneous correction and adjustment to ensure the bike stops at its optimum distance without sliding or bunging you over the front. In addition to this aspect of maximum braking one must also inspect the surface of the road for anything that could increase the likelihood of a skid. It’s an inexact science this, I was braking hard on a part of the road which isn’t used to constant traffic flow, so it was a little muddy and be-shitted with gravel, so I was prepared, should the front end lose traction, to slam on the rear brake and slide the bike round as a last resort. The initial horror of ‘I’m not going to make this’ to ‘YOU FUCKING FAT CUNT!’ takes a half second to an hour.
Of course I stopped (millimetres to spare, no shit) before unleashing a torrent of abuse at volume, pedestrians and cars stopped to see the source of this commotion but due to my being helmeted, and in the midst of tall buildings, all eyes were on the lorry driving floundering in his cab parked widthways across the road poorly trying to defend himself as he was hit with a stream of revolting conjecture. I had lost the plot, dear reader, so whilst constantly referring to him as unclean female genitals I also reminded him he enjoyed his food a little too much, acted in a despicable manner with own mother, then demanded he perform an aggressive act of fellatio on my person and consume my excrement, before rounding it off with a sincere, ‘I hope you die soon.’ I was livid; it’s a wonder my helmet didn’t pop off.
I had a lovely even with IC that featured Piqued’s Sensational Spudz, what the missus loved, and a movie, Mesrine, which I highly recommend. I also abstained which means I’ve been off the source 3 times this week. I think that’s a record. I fully intend to make up for it this weekend, it’s already packed full of goodies.
Right, Gary’s chart, tune and a request you all have marvellous weekends.
NO. ARTIST SONG TITLE LAST WEEK WEEKS ON
30 Hadouken Turn The Lights Out 27 4
29 Massive Attack Paradise Circus NE 1
28 Paramore Brick By Boring Brick 20 12
27 The Cribs We Share The Same Skies 17 10
26 Death Cab For Cutie Meet Me At The Equinox 29 12
25 Phoenix 1901 28 2
24 Flyleaf Again NE 1
23 Lostprophets Where We Belong 16 6
22 The Temper Trap Fader 13 7
21 AFI Medicate 21 9
20 Plan B Stay Too Long 26 2
19 Muse Undisclosed Desires 14 11
18 I Blame Coco Caesar NE 1
17 Ash Space Shot 23 2
16 Fightstar A City On Fire 9 8
15 Hot Chip One Life Stand 19 3
14 The Courteeners Cross my heart and hope to fly 18 3
13 Ian Brown Just Like You 8 8
12 Chase And Status ft Plan B End Credits 7 11
11 Goldhawks Running Away 12 5
10 Mumford And Sons Winter Winds 15 8
9 Them Crooked Vultures New Fang 6 10
8 Marina And The Diamonds Hollywood 22 2
7 Biffy Clyro Many Of Horror 10 4
6 Placebo Bright Lights 11 3
5 Depeche Mode Fragile Tension 4 7
4 Editors You Don’t Know Love 5 4
3 Timbaland/N. Furtado/ SoShy Morning After Dark 2 6
2 Alice In Chains Your Decision 3 3
1 Pearl Jam Got Some 1 7
