So not for the first time in my life, I went mentally insane on Saturday. There was no looking for security cameras behind the shampoo and conditioner this weekend, no horrible conspiracy code games, no sir! Picture a situation where you're battered from the mother of all sessions; your brother keeps switching the channel and everyone who comes on the screen is rinsing you to bits. Now I can tolerate it when my mates do it, but when Eamonn Holmes is taking the piss out of you for being a chubby bastard, you look past the hypocrisy of the statement and wonder what the hell is going on. Stand up comedians telling you that you're a joke and that you're going to find out something 'verrrry interesting in the morning' is hardly the type of quip that helps your head come around and your heart rate drop below what has now become a constant 230BPM. I slept in the conservatory that night because I thought someone had pumped poison gas into my bedroom. Should have just taken the dog for a walk really.
I'd like to think I'm alright now. Been to work, grafting hard as ever, fetching the Peach Melbas in and sending inappropriate emails. Turns out the ex-employee that I was messaging over Facebook that day (read the last blog post if you have to know) wasn't content with my boss giving me a small ticking off. Oh no, this girl wanted to take it a lot further than that, so she emailed the big boss down in Canary Wharf, London. She has got a point though- I'm sure if I was one of the head honchos down at one of the countries biggest selling tabloid papers, then I'd want to sort out the cheeky little beggars on the shop floor for serenading old members of the workforce as well. Maybe she'd heard that I'm mentally unstable now? We could have been so good together...
I've got to ride the next couple of weeks out without a penny to my name. 'Not a pot to piss in' as old Papa Milne would say. It's ironic that I spent the last of my fortune on some plant food, especially when you consider I've never done the gardening in my life. Probably going to spend the rest of my week writing a list for my boss on why Jade Goody is NOT 'an English rose' as she so unbelievably put it today. Guess we'll have to agree to disagree with that one. I don't think I'll struggle too much, but if all else fails then I could always crack out a few jokes about a wedding dress and a shuttle cock.
I'm just like everyone else when I say that a load of the music I used to listen to when I was a pup was absolute tripe. Strutting round in a flat peak cap and a bandanna wasn't really a good look in a lower-middle class school back in the day, and the name 'Fifty Pence' was rightfully branded at every given opportunity. I guess looking back, I was a total cunt. The music that stood the test of time though is still, in my eyes, at least defensible! Here's something I used to listen to back then...a personal favourite:
"><
No comments:
Post a Comment