Friday, August 30, 2013

Forgive me lord, for I have sinned.

Okay, okay, I'll confess.

I did it.

It's not the kind of thing I would've done at 25.

But I've just turned 26, and BANG - the compulsion was there.

And I admit. I could've backed off a lot earlier, said to myself, 'Hey, enough calm down.'

But It just kept on happening.

I realised that there was a safe place, an understanding place, where I could admit the horrible things I had done, and not be judged. Right here.

So....

It started with the blackberry bushes. So many of the bastards. They took us by surprise when we wandered into the Common seeking out a picnic spot. When we finished our salad, we wiped out our tupperware containers, and picked berries for an hour.

CRIME 1 - Wanting to have a picnic, and more specifically a salad picnic.

CRIME 2 - Owning tupperware.

We arrived home with about 1.5kg of berries.

CRIME 3 - Weighing berries.

And this is where it gets really nasty. Don't read this until you've eaten your lunch.

With some of the berries, we tracked down a recipe and made a spiced, blackberry chutney. *Gags*

Some of the berries were frozen to make a crumble later *Vomits over own legs*

The rest of the berries were layered with cream and crushed hobnobs to create a layered desert *Commits suicide for the good of the nation*

Today, I *GROSS* had the homemade chutney *DOUBLE VOM* in my ham sandwich. And it was lush.

WHEN WILL IT STOP? I NEED TO KNOW.

I had to sterilise a fucking jar in the oven. Who does that? Why would that ever be something to do?

I FEEL BETTER, THANKS.

To try and address the balance, and counter how disgustingly twee I've become, I've developed a 3 stage action plan for this weekend:

*Miss a phone bill payment
*Listen to my music at a volume which would be considered inconsiderate, on the tube.
*Throw away my collection of spare buttons.

There, I think that should get me back to my typical Rock 'n' Roll self.






Friday, August 16, 2013

Let it out boys, let it all hang out

I'm pretty sure God (other omnipotent beings are available), must have read my last blog, and seen it as some kind of complaint. Specifically, that I was complaining over the absence of crotch related stories in my life since moving to London.

ASK, AND HE SHALL PROVIDE!!

On Monday, on the tube, I was looking for the perfect opportunity to say to this guy:

'Hi, sorry, hi, I see you're incredibly engaged with that newspaper article, but could I trouble you to explain something? It's just that your penis, that's right, your whole penis, has been pressing very firmly against my shoulder, with each gentle sway of the carriage. So firmly in fact, that should you request it, I could draw you a quite accurate picture of its outline. If you could not sexually assault me every ten seconds, it would contribute a real sense of relaxation to my journey which so far, I've been unable to experience.'

But like most men, after five minutes of this activity, he left.

I'M JOKING. I mean he did leave, but the sweeping generalisation  was completely out of order.

Does anyone have people at work who are paid to say hello and goodbye?

How does one break into that line of work?

 I don't think I'd be very good at having to genuinely care about people, but I'd be interested to take a sneaky peek at the salary.

Sometimes I forget that it's not real, because this one guy looks at me with such sincere joy. He wishes that all my weekends be absolutely super, and that each day is totally fantastic and that my evenings are especially lovely.

And I wish the same back for him. Because he's TRICKED me into believing that it's real.

And what folks, is even more devastating than no one smiling at you in reception? Someone whose salary is entirely generated from faking interest in your life.

BASTARDS

For your sake, I hope you don't have to endure this daily cycle of humiliation and lies.






Monday, August 12, 2013

Piss Poor

Okay, so I know I haven't written in like, yeeeaaars.

BUT, fear not. Because I can quickly fill you in on the highlights of my new London lifestyle (Spoiler Alert - it's terribly glamorous).

-A Putney runner overtook me, in bright white shorts, who'd quite evidently

1) Shat himself
2) Done an explosive poo fart.

-I sat in my cereal. I was totes late for work.

-I met Les Dennis, and when I say met I mean my friend went, 'Les Dennis!' and he went, 'Hi there.', and I went, 'Who's Dennis?'

-I watched a drunk man in orange corduroy trousers piss himself on the tube.

-I lost the first 17 layers of my finger nails to a group of rather viscous Vietnamese women who all work in Salons titled after American states. My hands are a fucking joke. If it wasn't CONSTANTLY too hot, I'd wear gloves.

Jealous? I THOUGHT SO.

There are many things I prefer about London. Here are some of the things I totally, do not, prefer:

1) They steal your shoes. I'm not sure that this really needs anything context, but should you desire it - I left my shoes at work, and they got taken in 'The Great Shoe Theft of 13'. Apparently it was enforcing the clear desk policy, and you could pick your shoes up from them (albeit shamefaced over your dirty, dirty standards) the following day. Only mine were missing. I've been seeking compensation for 6 weeks. I WILL NOT GIVE UP. And once I discover who THEY actually are, I'm going to TAKE THEIR SHOES.

How do they even sleep at night?

I'll tell you - quite comfortably, in an expensive pair of Red or Dead boots. Fuckers.

As I only use one pair of shoes at work, I spent the following 3 weeks bringing in, and wearing, every pair of shoes I own. Only to discover that NONE of them fit. I'm not even toying with you for effect. I threw away ten pairs of unworn shoes.

They think they're teaching me a lesson, when it fact, they're unraveling a lifetime of misguided purchases.

2) The tubes are worse than the trains! To think I spent so many blogs whinging about being eye level with a crotch. I had no idea what horrors awaited me here. Highlights so far

-Someone completing their crossword on my  right shoulder blade
-Ginger Beard kicking at the floor of a packed carriage to achieve leg room, only to discover that a small, Japanese girl was down there.
-Crying two stops away from home because so many disgusting people have their skin against my skin.

I LOVE IT HERE.

WHAT A GREAT DECISION.