Category Archives: slipped disc

*pop* ouch

Hurrah, to compensate for my cacky back (now clicking in a succession of three) my fucking right knee has gone up the spout. I’m currently traversing round the office in black and white, like I’m walking wounded, bravely staggering around the grounds of a military hospital in the late 40’s, puffing on a Capstan, where is the pretty nurse with starched apron smoothing my brill creamed hair? She be dead now of course.

Yesterday lunchtime I began the task of gathering together the various ingredients for the folks 40th Wedding Anniversary. It was awful; I had to go into Woolworths where I was subject to Holly Valence and Gerry Halliwell breathing surround sound poison into my face as I gloomily trudged through glittering isles selling shit made in China. A big fat women was going to task on the pick n’ mix, every time she bent down to shovel a pile of candy into her brightly coloured paper sack she’d go bright red and the sun would go out. I located some fucking balloons and 50 little rubber finger monsters, I’d been made deranged by Victoria Beckham’s single, so I purchased the rubber monsters with the help of an utterly vacant human being at the counter and left the bobbing porker to fill her 3rd bag.

I wandered about Wimbledon forlornly trying to find somewhere that sold little fucking silver stars and ribbon and tissue paper and other tiny bits of anniversary related ephemera. As the tennis was on the place was packed full of cunts looking all confused and weird with another heap of tools perpetually trying to press leaflets, phone cards and free newspapers into my hand. It was a nightmare of truly harrowing proportions; I was in full swearing mode and prepared to fling whatever piece of shit had been imposed on me back into the face of the vendor, it happened 4 times. By the time I returned to the office, late, the only item that had increased my lot was a small spool of silver ribbon, but my blood pressure was sky high and I was sweating like a navvy. The afternoon was written off.

After work I dropped off my black bitch, she was looking mighty fine, and went directly to the tube to arrive at Clapham in time to visit a posh gift shop before meeting my bro. The initial disappointment of the contents of the shop had its head kicked off when I found it sold fucking silver stars and a host of other twinkle-twee anniversary stuff. Ace. I met my bro in the usual and we discussed the forthcoming weekend –you’ll be privy to this on Monday if you tune in- and the recent mud fest in Shepton Mallet. We’d not spoken since and it seems that he was about impressed with the festival as I, it also seems that in terms of getting out of the fucking thing to go home we were extraordinary lucky, not that I give a tinker’s cuss from where I sit now in the warm and dry…Office. Oh.

This evening Myfwt is over to finish off the anniversary shopping for tomorrow evening, I just hope we have enough time for a few glasses of wine before being forced to undertake a relatively early night, this is due to the massive flurry of activity culminating in a 50 guest knees up in deepest darkest Surrey.

Finally, it’s worth mentioning that my bro gave me some video footage shot 3 years ago of me throwing up into a sink as Jamie, who is on top form, is reminding me of my job as an auxillary Nurse. If I can edit it properly I’m considering posting it on YouTube for your entertainment. I saw it last night for the first time and it had me in stitches.

Have nice weekends; don’t forget how lucky you are to have quality spines…

Modern classic

wide awake

I’m bloody shattered. I’m not sure if its down to my viewing of the fucking Blair Witch Project last week but I have been waking up at precisely 3.45 for every night this week save Sunday, which is the night I had to witness a nightmare, and was the only night that waking up at 3.45 would’ve been helpful.

The thing is that as soon as I’m awake I’m aware in that semi-conscious fog between the state of being asleep and awake (the part that the surrealists get wood about) that I am, and the mind starts racing until I’m actually awake, the whole blinking-in-the-dark-feeling-frankly-pissed-off awake.

My attempts to return to sleep consist of various tried and tested sleeping positions. Covering oneself but leaving one limb out of the duvet until it’s stone cold is oddly effective when the cold limb is brought home, similarly, lying on ones side with ones bare back exposed and hugging a wadge of duvet prior to returning to the classic side position can also do the trick. Since my disc slipped I’ve been unable to sleep on my front and feel that my sleeping has subsequently suffered, thanks back, yeah.

Anyway, none of these methods worked so I remained awake for about 2 christing hours as the sun came up, dozed off until 7.15, woke up and then fell asleep again, I was subsequently late on my refusing to get out of my pit.

After my rather splendid cycle home yesterday I dumped the bike, changed and set out. It was a glorious evening, perfect actually. I arrived at the boozer on Clapham Common a minute after my brother and we chatted to one of our pals who works behind the bar before heading off to sit by the window and watch the world go by as we sipped on Grolsch. My brother was shattered but after a pint, a chat with his missus that coincided with a call from Myfwt he got a second wind and we were off. We spent the evening discussing that Rock programme on BBC, Alan Partridge and Glastonbury, which is coming sooner than I’d realised. After 4 pints I was feeling unusually pissed, possibly due to a light lunch yet my bro blackmailed me into a whisky and ginger, which I wolfed down. After much giggling we went our separate ways and I arrived home seconds away from doing tinkle in my pants.

I’m not hangover today but I am knackered due to the lack of sleep, to add insult to injury I’ve a horrifically busy day, which is why today’s offing is somewhat short. I’ve two interviews, an important meeting and a stressed boss to contend with… it’s a lovely day though.

In the meantime, these young men cropped up in conversation last night. They look rather peculiar but make lovely noises. Turn it up.