squitter critter

I’m back at home again; my return to work was a little premature methinks, I knew I should’ve been resting up, I fucking told you.

Yesterday was of course dreadful. I spent much of it in limbo between my desk and the bog, if you were to have averaged out my day it would’ve been a single image of me looking pensive either going to, or returning from, the chod bin.

By late morning I have to say I was feeling better so at lunch I concluded that I was pretty much cured, I ate a sandwich which was free from diary and enjoyed a small packet of Walkers salt and vinegar Square crisps, which are delicious, low in fat and great as a mid morning snack or pre teatime treat.

The afternoon was okay too, actually, yes, I think I was all right –I even regretted cancelling meeting a friend in town but felt it wise to not push my luck. ‘I’ll just have a quiet one’ I pondered, chewing the cap of a Bic biro as I did so. The day passed slowly and uneventfully, for April Fools Day it was a fucking shit dull load of toss if you ask me. Frank had suggested we meet up for a quick pint, I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea but like the hero you know and love, I succame, all over my tits.

It was a very pleasant evening, the first time I’ve been down the local in daylight for a while, it even felt a bit odd sat in there with sunshine streaming through the window, proper alcoholism stuff. Ace. Frank and I caught up and I impressed him with toilet-based tales of daring-do, we only had a couple pints as I didn’t want to push my luck and I toddled home after spending an hour catching up passing fucking satan is lord Tesco to pick up some vegetables.

I ate last night as normal, as if well, I’d picked up a slab of fresh smoked fish from the market in Whitstable and I ate half of it in a tortilla wrap with salad and tomato, it was rather good, I watched The Road to Perdition, it was rather like the slab of fresh smoked fish from the market in Whitstable which I’d eaten half of in that tortilla wrap with salad and tomato I mentioned back there.

I awoke in the middle of the fucking night with cramps and then this morning I was once again blasting my arsehole into smithereens with something resembling marmalade and curdled milk, really think about that too, awful isn’t it…

You may be thinking, ah ha, the fish was to blame, or perhaps the beer, but you’d be bang wrong, it was simply the bug (didn’t Tina Turner do that?). I should’ve rested up yesterday instead of cavorting round the office. I’ve just heard from Myfwt, she’s at work complaining of a stomach upset and is feeling nauseous, oh dear, here we go again.

This is rather quirky and lovely.

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15 responses to “squitter critter

  • Napoleon Cockaparte

    You must be so ill if you’re staying at home today. How you managed to go out drinking last night is a testament to your will to face the effects of bad oysters head-on. Such courage.

    YOU LYING, SKIVING BASTARD.

  • piqued

    I didn’t ‘go out drinking’ last night, I had a couple of pints over an hour when (I thought) I was feeling better…

    I’m now back at work as I type this because I’m feeling better again…

    *is plugged up with Immodium*

  • Swineshead

    IT’S SIMPLY THE BUG

    *does Tina Turner dance*

    Slimy toilet…
    Comin’ from the tummy bug.

  • piqued

    That was a ‘steamy windows’ parody wasn’t it, WASN’T IT

    I can tell you, the windows of piqued’s smallhouse have been well steamy of late, well.

  • Napoleon Cockaparte

    Ill people don’t tend to go out at all. They stay at home under duvets on the sofa, moaning and drinking Lucozade. Lying skivers, on the other hand, outrageously fish for sympathy on the internet about supposed stomach complaints, then go to the pub and drink booze.

    If you’re well enough to go out to play with your mates, you’re well enough to go to school, you flabby, middle-aged drunkard.

  • markgorman

    You are a very funny man but you fucking well asked for it. The folk in the office here particularly liked the description of marmalade and curdled milk jobbies. I didn’t tell the girls about the “cumming on your tits” analogy as I felt it was a trifle inappropriate.

    Do you work for a church based organisation by any chance?

  • markgorman

    Couldn’t help noticing that you are 26 to my 24 on Technorati ratings. Seems your brand of slightly leftfeild humour trumps mine. I’ll need to say cunt a LOT more in my blog to catch you.

  • piqued

    NC, I am svelte and toned with a full head of hair on my head unlike you I’ve been told. Baldy

    MG, I spurn all forms of religion except under circumstances of extreme hypocrisy as recently outlined

  • Napoleon Cockaparte

    Svelt and toned, my arse. And if Swineshead’s told you I’m a fat, balding bastard, then he’s a fucking liar and he knows it (though I’ll concede the bastard bit). Not only am I currently sporting a ridiculous mop of long hair so I can spoil my cousin’s wedding photos, but I’ve also got legs as thick as tree trunks and bulging arms thanks to my punishing exercise regime. Unlike you, I don’t waste every hour of my spare time getting drunk or sitting on my arse eating pretentious food.

    So there, you fat old man with a drink problem.

  • heavenlydemise

    At least ‘it’ isn’t coming out of both ends. It is one thing, blessing the toilet with your entrails, it is something else to be accompanying that with blessing the bathroom door with your bleah! Especially bad if you then have to clear it up yourself. Thankfully I have a well trained ‘Igor’ for such things. (throws the later a doggy treat and makes loving noises at him)

  • piqued

    NC, you have just described Conan The Barbarian you berk, I also have it on good authority you’re not exactly a stranger to booze either, nor are you very good at, well, keeping it all in.

    HD, it was coming from both ends, it was hideous, I’m barely alive.

  • Napoleon Cockaparte

    You have that on good authority, do you? From Swineshead, yes? The Swineshead who hasn’t seen me in over ten years? The Swineshead who last saw me boozing when I was 22, as opposed to 33? Unlike you, you flabby drunk, I’ve grown up and don’t feel the need to booze away every waking hour of my spare time – no stranger to booze, indeed.

    And when I DO go out on the lash, I still could drink you to fucking death, you lightweight old cunt. If you actually had any real knowledge of my reputation, you’d know I have the booze-holding capacity of Oliver Reed. AND I can last an evening without needing a piss every ten minutes or ending up in Casualty with fucked kidneys. UP YOURS!

  • markgorman

    this is quite grown up conversation isn’t it.

  • Swineshead

    Hang on – I get the feeling Piqued is being a tell tale tit here… I would never be so unkind to refer to you as an Albert Steptoe type, NC.

  • piqued

    Fucked up Kidneys, there I was thinking it was the Liver that was effected by booze, Conan

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