Apparently, moving house is one of the most stressful experiences that there is. I think that this is probably true, having now just done it. I think that a significant part of the stressing comes from the need to make multiple visits to Ikea in Southampton, and I am convinced that my ability to now have done this four times in 3 weeks, including on two consecutive days, and to not go postal, can only enhance my canditature for beatification.
So much to tell! My brief moment of road rage, leaving the Dukes Walk car park in Waterlooville - I love that name for a car park, I can't help but get out of the car and swagger around drawling about the 'Son uv Guaaaaard' - as I'm queuing at the lights and these two guys in a stretch Bentley are trying to muscle into the queue and I'm gobbing off about the big car arrogance and then Tabatha points out that they're actually trying to get into the back gate of one of the shops; would I like to notice which shop? Ah....the funeral directors.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Oh no, a life without purpose....
...I have ceased employment, and following the tidying up of the loose ends I don't really have any real need to get up tomorrow morning, although Socrates advises that I don't lose the habit of getting up (yeah, mate, but not at twenty to fucking six any more, so I can drive past the still-steaming carcasses of the early morning roadkill) and anyway, the mother-in-law-to-be has suggested that I might like to go to niece's end of term school assembly tomorrow, and that this would be a really popular move. The last term I went to an end-of-term assembly was ahem years ago and was that typical formality that we went through every year at Market Town Minor School which involved jeering of the headmaster as he whinged about some wanton vandalism, crowed about an irrelevant sporting triumph and jabbered on about other drivel that didn't interest us when we had to come back tomorrow.
Anyway, I now have a reason to get up tomorrow, and not to get drunk tonight.
I did drink last night, this caused some huffin' and puffin' in some quarters, because I rocked up at oure hoostes with 2l of Pepsi-Cola and a half bottle of Cockspur. The major source of contention was that I chose to drink them seperately, drinking my rum as a neat sippin' shortie, and my cola as a long cold refresher. So I enjoyed them, and read a bit and listened to a podcast about the late Roy Jenkins, who I did not realise was actually quite an interesting feller, and someone who made a difference.
Today I saw Socrates which was, as ever, a rewarding experience, and we discussed amongst other things a particularly nasty dream I had recently, which involved my being part of a SWAT team and being engaged in a thoroughly bloody shoot-out in a trailer park to liberate, some hostages, and the last of the baddies refusing to be arrested and taking a poison which caused his blood to turn to jelly in his veins. Not nice, but apparently nothing to worry about. I've probably been watching too much of tv such as Numbers and various incarnations of CSI.
I've had to promise Tabatha that we'll have Sky when we move into the new pad, this will enable us to watch endless reruns of House, and pointless motorsport series. There's a prize if anyone can rationally explain the need for Supercross? Is it not even less valid than tennis? And remember, I like motorsport.
Lawdy, it's so warm!
Anyway, I now have a reason to get up tomorrow, and not to get drunk tonight.
I did drink last night, this caused some huffin' and puffin' in some quarters, because I rocked up at oure hoostes with 2l of Pepsi-Cola and a half bottle of Cockspur. The major source of contention was that I chose to drink them seperately, drinking my rum as a neat sippin' shortie, and my cola as a long cold refresher. So I enjoyed them, and read a bit and listened to a podcast about the late Roy Jenkins, who I did not realise was actually quite an interesting feller, and someone who made a difference.
Today I saw Socrates which was, as ever, a rewarding experience, and we discussed amongst other things a particularly nasty dream I had recently, which involved my being part of a SWAT team and being engaged in a thoroughly bloody shoot-out in a trailer park to liberate, some hostages, and the last of the baddies refusing to be arrested and taking a poison which caused his blood to turn to jelly in his veins. Not nice, but apparently nothing to worry about. I've probably been watching too much of tv such as Numbers and various incarnations of CSI.
I've had to promise Tabatha that we'll have Sky when we move into the new pad, this will enable us to watch endless reruns of House, and pointless motorsport series. There's a prize if anyone can rationally explain the need for Supercross? Is it not even less valid than tennis? And remember, I like motorsport.
Lawdy, it's so warm!
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