Yesterday afternoon crawled past, the prior evenings festivities gradually faded away as I sat at the fucking desk trying to connect to my workload. After an age it was time to leave, I jumped on the Triumph in the pissing rain and arrived home relatively unscathed, the shower had past by mid trip and the spring breeze had seen to the subsequent damp.
Sadly, it wasn’t just me that had noticed the passing of the clouds, after parking up my bike and covering it over with the canvas, the fucking front door began to open and my heart sank to the soles of my feet. Cunt’s fucking idiot head appeared, baseball hated up, big black cheap sunglasses and an expression you may see on a masturbating primate. Behind him his cadaverous partner dragging a perfectly silent blank faced infant locked down in its buggy. I made the necessary pleasantries as my mind screamed ‘escape’.
Cunt said something incomprehensible whilst I poked at his daughter’s cheek in order for it to react with a fundamental emotion. It looked at me as if I were unpleasant food. I weakly asked Cunt to repeat his question; it was ‘are they Armani?’ Bit like asking Ghandi if his sandals are Jimmy Choo. He was referring to my dark glasses, ‘No’ I replied, managing to get past the entire family in under 30seconds, nodding inanely as the bastard conversation was twisted in my favour culminating in an outstretched arm bearing a single key to freedom.
I met up with my mate from up the road, (heron known as Frank to inject some personality into my mutterings). Frank and I drunk Spitfire and discussed families, his partners father had just died and was having to deal with the aftermath which was, as one would expect, calamitous. Frank was doing a good job, however, and the relationship had taken a more positive step through a duty of care. After a few pints he and I shuffled off to our relative flats, I passed by Tesco to grab some basic items and arrived back home in time for a bath before House, which I’m oddly addicted to. I’m not a massive fan of American TV (apart from Family Guy) but for some reason this pulls my chain.
After a supper of broccoli and sausages baked in a cheese and onion sauce I flaked out in front of the Snooker but was forced to retire shortly after, shattered.
I couldn’t be arsed to cycle in the morning so I took the Triumph. The office is half empty and someone is trying to fucking sue me for ‘breach of contract’ which could only be the case if he or I were so fucking stupid Cunt could beat the other at Snap.
Meeting up with friends tonight (including the one with tits) and preparing for a trip up North to celebrate my granddad’s 100th birthday over the weekend… It should be a good one so tune in on Monday to see how pissed I got.
Oh, today’s tune, don’t fucking turn this off because you don’t like the look of the beginning, deal with it, one of the best bands in the world. If you don’t like it now try it after a few wines.
Ladies and gentlemen, pray silence please…