vyce

I’m in a contemptible mood, in addition to a fractured ride into work (cold, arseholes at every junction, pop-up roadworks etc) I walk into the office with my fingertips leaking nitrogen and am instantly thrown into the crushing jaws of a fucking cock-up that wasn’t my fault but somehow became my responsibility. A bit like getting bollock cancer, or hitting a woman when all drunked-up on homemade cider.

I finally caught up with my bro in the boozer near Monument last night. We’ve been there before; it’s a nice little place with good (albeit a tad costly) beer but, on the downside, stuffed full of city-tits. They are an awful collective of red-faced guffawing cunts, the types of people that look at you as if they’d just stepped in something, a bunch of shameless bankers, every last man jack-off of them. Nonetheless we happily popped a few in, though going outside for a fag was a pain. Every time we left our spot some fat-arsed corporate was sat in our seats on return, despite the placing of our bags over the required stools. For the last pint we just gave up and shivered outside, it was bloody freezing. I don’t think we’ll be returning anytime soon.

I’ve got to get on, forgive the semi-post