There may well not be a piqued tomorrow, I am absurdly busy, not so much with work I hasten to add, the taps on that particular entity seemed to have been switched off, or best are leaking with that weird high pitched hiss, no, I have a weekend approaching with big plastic tits on it.
Tomorrow lunchtime Myfwt and I are due to go to the Kent coast for the soul purpose of clearing the sea of its Oysters, this will prequel her birthday which happens on the Saturday. So far so good. We intend to return to London with a car boot full of fresh fruits de la mer packed in ice so her talented amateur-chef brother- in- law can make some shit out of it. This is all well and good but this isn’t the whole story.
Sunday, bear in mind we’ll have lost an hour due the clocks being fiddled about with by the Lord, I have to be at church, yes, you read that correctly, church, at fucking 9am to perform Godfather duties with my brother at my nieces Christening. I explained to my sister that I kiss under the tail of the serpent, as does my brother, but she insisted we were to be the kid’s Godfathers. This is somewhat of a moral dilemma, I don’t believe that religion should be forced on children and this ceremony involves me swearing allegiance to a figment of someone’s imagination that I will be instrumental in raising the child in a manner that is dictated by some God inspired doctrine… Then I realised, God doesn’t exist in the first place, which reduces the entire process to some family standing about with a bloke dressed like a bat occasionally talking drivel and giving a baby a crap hair wash, job done.
And even this isn’t the while story, for it’s also my dad’s 70th birthday, after the Christening the post Christening stuff will merge into a birthday party with ever increasing amounts of guests, loads and loads of people in my face for an entire day, no doubt I’ll be hungover from the night before, doubtless exhausted from clock and travel shenanigans and quite probably in the dog house for having upset my mum during the Christening service.
Obviously I’ve been busily collating gifts and wotnot for the various celebrations ahead, Myfwt is sorted, we did that part last weekend, Dad is an unknown quantity at this stage, this is of mild concern as we don’t have much time and I dealt with my nieces present yesterday lunchtime. Due to all this wandering about in town for inspiration I was forced into many different shops and stores and required to pass by and through zones of no relevance to the task in hand, such as men’s shoes, and it was here that I had a collision with fate
Long suffering readers may recall my buying of a pair of expensive shoes last year that were a shit tan colour that I wound up dying a dark brown and fucking them up… Well, I sort of bought the tan ones because I liked the cut of the boot, really I wanted a black pair but such things were unavailable. Not only did I spy a pair of black fellows in passing they were also in the sale for £30 (original price 85) and my exact size, the last pair in the store. I was both delighted with my purchase and livid that I’d shat 85 green queens on the pair I didn’t like… OCD, it really is tiresome.
I took my new pair of shoes (more of a boot actually) into town last night to meet Den, Harry and Liam in a boozer in Covent Garden. We had a splendid evening of banter and childish piss taking, it was weeing with rain but this somehow made the evening even more splendid as we sat in the snug of a warm pub supping London’s finest ales, I even ended up buying an umbrella after 5 pints for a fiver just before Harry and I caught the last tube back to Tooting. That’s how bloody rock and roll it was.
I may have posted this tune before but not this version, the vocals are terrific; actually it’s all fucking marvellous. Stick with it…