It’s 9 o clock a.m. and I’m sat at my desk at home.
I’m not going into work until they sort out the fucking broadband. Almost immediately after I posted yesterdays blog the bastard office system collapsed and with it my entire reason for being at work. In addition to not being able to do an actual ‘work’ because my e-mail died, I wasn’t able to chat to any friends, keep my eye on the news, check for new weirdness on bmezine, go into chat rooms and insult fucking fundamentalist Christians… I felt emasculated.
This morning I called up work and requested a colleague call me when the system is fully functioning and until that point here I shall remain. So there.
Actually, its just as well I’m not around people today, my hair looks fucking idiotic and I’ve been forced to grow some chin-rubble in order to at least give the impression that My Hair is the ‘new direction, yeah’. I’ve been considering dressing in a manner as seen in the back pages of the Guardian Weekend magazine, you know, white Converse (no socks) black kilt, long pink t-shirt, tight orange waistcoat and brown Mac over the whole lot, essentially, as a cunt to justify or at least undermine the impact of my bloody head. It changes hourly; one minute it’s just looking a bit shit and the next it’s freakishly obscure pointing in every fucking direction with not so much as a nod to symmetry or grace. Last night I came so close the shaving the whole lot off, I was prevented only by the cold harsh reality of growing it back, that I’d have to suffer at least 3 months of the stage where I resemble Tony Blair.
Apart from my head last night was rather jolly, oh, apart from nearly choking to death. I was enjoying a rather excellent supper of roast potato’s, broccoli (the key to life kids) and chicken breast wrapped in streaky bacon in front of Dragon’s Den in the kitchen. There was a couple of chaps who’d invented this excellent device for cunts who leave everything on stand-by not realising it burns almost as much electricity if said device was on. Device aside, I was more impressed by how fucking ugly these two chaps were. One of them looked as if every other tooth had been removed (and the ones that had remained were the colour of wardrobes) from his fat head and the other was quite simply ‘Lurch’ made more Lurchlike by having ginger parts nestling within his baffling white beard-thing. From some unfathomable reason I was privy to my brain flashing up an image of both of them stark bollock in the very early stages of a bout of buggery, to make matters worse both were being coy.
A mixture of amusement and shock caused me to gasp a tendril of bacon into my windpipe… worst nightmare possible, I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to cough it up so I opted for standing up as if I’d been bitten on the balls by a Birchill, sending the stool crashing to the floor and zipping over to the sink (it’s amazing, even at the point of death I didn’t want to make a mess, I swear to god, one of my cells is a bit, well, lavender) leaning forwards and scraping the bundle of food from my mouth. Mercifully the other end of the bacon string was wrapped round some other part of my supper and I felt the obstacle move clear of my life-pipe. I remained over the sink gasping for a minute then poured myself a glass of wine. I’d intended to do another booze free but that went right up the wall. I was alive! And tonight I shall celebrate! (by watching Grand Designs and it’s sister show on More4).
Christ I’m bored rigid over here. Speaking of rigid…