It's going to be messy...
The
Boys are coming down again.This time, I have taken Friday off work so that we get a three day weekend. Julio, who takes the concept of 'tardy' to a whole new and piss taking level, is actually due in about an hour or so (it's 00:30 Thursday night here) because Keith is coming tomorrow morning at 11 ish. He should arrive about 01:30/02:20. That may seem like an odd time to turn up to you (and frankly it is), but it's the only way that he can have any confidence of getting here before 5 tomorrow night. He gets astonishingly distracted by shiny objects and things that move/have buttons and is completely incapable of leaving less than 2 hours after he should have been somewhere. When he has a 3 or 4 hour trip (pending traffic) this is a bad thing.
He was on the phone just now telling me he was on schedule and all that, and was discussing how he had been on time last time and that we had been impressed. I pointed out to him that he wasn't, and that we had actually been impressed that he was
only 90 minutes late; it being a record for him.
Plans for this weekend include much stupidity, taking the piss out of all and sundry and (the piece of the resistance as they say in france. Maybe) is a 3 foot long, electrically fired Rocket. It goes about 500ft up apparently, and comes down on a parachute when it has taken a picture. How cool is that?
I will record the stupidity, I assure you.
Feckin batteries
Why the
fuck can't the batteries in my cordless phone (land-line) be designed to not only last ages (which is good), but also NOT always run out of power at 2:30 in the dead of night? Is that the price I must pay for good battery life? I swear that not
once in the time I have had these phones (about 4 years) have they ever run out during the day. Not once.
Last night:
*BEEP-BEEEEEEEP*(long silence)
*BEEP-BEEEEEEEP**sleepy grunt*
(long pause)
*BEEP-BEEEEEEEP*"For FUCKS sake!" (say out loud without moving your mouth much, hardly at all, for a realistic representation as to the sound)
*stomp* *stomp* *stomp* *stomp* *stomp**BEEP-BEEEEEEEP*"Where the FUCK is it?"*BEEP-BEEEEEEEP*(fumble on sofa)
*BEEP-BEE.......**clatter as phone goes into charger*
"Fucking thing"*stomp* *stomp* *stomp* *stomp* *stomp**gaflump* into bed
(sigh)
I swear a lot when I have been woken up, it appears.
2nd crappest injury in the world.
2nd crappest injury in the world.
Originally uploaded by Brock. Further to this bloody thing, I have managed to gain another toilet related injury.
I was at the aforementioned Motorhome show and had to go to the loo. So I spied a porta-loo thingy. Due to the fact that this was one of the hottest days of the year so far, and these were the little individual porta potty things and the sun had been beating down on it for about 8 hours it was hotter inside than molten rock.
As I shut the door (so as not to intimidate any men, or excite any ladies once I unleashed the beast) I instantly lost more liquid in sweat that I did through peeing. It was astonishingly hot in there. By the time I was done, I was completely sweaty and starved of oxygen, and this must have softened my skin.
Perhaps through the fact that I must have been slightly cooked.
Anyway, as I left, gasping for air that didn't burn my lungs, the door swung shut on me and a sharp bit of a rivet hacked a gouge in my hand - this photo is taken a day later.
So there I was, sweating profusely, bleeding copiously from the hand (trying not to get it on my white T-shirt and beige shorts) and trying not to swear in front of my Mum.
I nearly managed it. She let me off saying "Argh, bastard thing!" as the door shut on my hand, but I think the sight of blood may have made her forget to frown at me. If I'd known it was that easy, I'd have gone through my youth frantically self harming whenever I did anything wrong. I'd have been more anaemic than a certain M. Jackson.
6 days and counting
Holy fuck. Six days since my last post and
nothing exciting or blog-worthy has occurred.
How depressing is that?
I am currently enjoying the delights of Vodka from the freezer. It is very relaxing and is going a long way to making me feel happier that the only highlight I have to look forward to is that I am going to a show this weekend. You know, like a trade show kind of thing. All very exciting, you might think.
However.
It's for
Motorhomes.Bleeeuuuuuurrrrggghhhhhh. The heady heights of Rock'n'Roll excess elude me once again.
Sadly, I am actually looking forward to it; the Engineer type in me is interested in how the integration of modern technology with vehicle design has progressed. Clever design for a purpose has always interested me, boring though that may sound. I wouldn't normally even consider going to something like this (I'm not THAT interested!), however my Mum and her Hubby are looking to getting a Motorhome to do some cheap touring when they retire in a couple of years. It would seem sensible that I go along (as they requested it and all) to have a look now so that when they purchase one we should have spotted the real bargains from the over-priced crap.
Ah well. When I grow a personality I shall do exciting and dangerous things, and tell you all about them. Until then, I will be deeply dull and helpful and try and help a retiring couple...
How frantically suave of me. Errr....
Jack shit
Amusing IM chatI did giggle, I did.
Birthdays
People seem to think I am weird about birthdays. I am not writing this for attention and happy birthday messages, as will be clear.
I have never been bothered by them. I mean
really not bothered by them. From the first year that I was old enough to be asked if I wanted one, I have never had a birthday party. It just didn't interest me, I prefer to distance myself from the whole concept of it. I don't mind being the centre of attention up to a point, but I have this weird kind of value system that means that I feel I should deserve it. By being funny, or interesting, not just because a particular number of days on a nominal calendar has occurred. New Years Eve is the same for me for exactly the same reason, it's all just bollocks, isn't it?
(Christmas means nothing because religion is bunkum, but let's leave that one for now...)
My total apathy for birthdays has not helped me in other aspects. I try and remember other people's birthdays because it matters to
them, regardless of my feelings, but I'm just shit at it. I think I have a hit rate for remembering my Mum's and Sister's birthdays about 1 in 3, my Dad's more like 1 in 5. It does have an impact when I DO remember though. I drove to my Mums when I was at Uni and put a bunch of flowers on the table while she was out - she went on about it for years.
I tend to withdraw at this time, rather than anything else. If I was about to call someone that I hadn't spoke to for a while either this week or last, then I would wait until after my birthday because I wouldn't want them to think I was fishing for attention. Not that I even think about it anymore. It was only when the card from my Mum landed on the doormat yesterday that I even remembered that it was my birthday.
If no-one said or sent anything, I genuinely don't think I would have noticed.
Jaffa-tastic!
Jaffa-tastic!
Originally uploaded by Brock. There has been some confusion. I have been speaking to americans, and they seem (for the most part) to be unaware of the loveliness that is the Jaffa Cake.
Click the picture to find out more and to allow a little clarity to seep gently into your lives.
This has been a public service announcement from the "This was a good excuse to buy two twin packs of Jaffa cakes and cram them all down my neck after the photo shoot" party.
The, erm, whassname.
I seem to be having a real issue with my attention span at the moment. No matter what I do, be it watch a film or try and read a book...
I...
erm...
The miracle of Childbirth
A friend of mine was with his girlfriend the other night while she gave birth to their daughter. She is a very funny girl, and it was good to see that she didn't lose her ability to amuse despite the intense pain of the experience. She started off deciding to have no drugs - just gas and oxygen - although this plan eventually fell by the wayside. These are a couple of the things she was screaming during labour at the nurses and the like that made her bloke proud and yet embarrassed at the same time:
"Christ almighty! Is this thing coming out of my arse? Cos it
fucking feels like it!"
And some time later:
"You lot don't know what the
fuck you are doing! Now give me some fucking painkillers or I'm
...going...HOME!She is a top chick, and makes us laugh a lot. Apparently she kept shouting at my mate for giggling when she was coming out with stuff like that. He never was a bright lad and obviously didn't think of the consequences of his actions, I swear he's going to have that thrown in his face everytime he does something wrong...
Once again, I delight my self with my genius for economy of life and convenience. Please consider the following as a guide for a relaxing evening:
Hoover the whole flat.
Spend half an hour cleaning the floor with your super-dooper new mop until it is shiny.
Spend the remainder of the afternoon whiling away the time making a spreadsheet for your finances (an optional addition here is to be surprised that you are enjoying the challenge).
Realise that you are cutting it a bit fine to have your dinner cooked before
Doctor Who comes on the TV.
Rush into the kitchen.
Take out the components of your intended dinner from the fridge and shove them on the side.
Attempt to get a plate, cutlery, saucepans and a grill pan organised all at once.
Watch helplessly as one of your wildly flailing limbs drifts out of your control in slow motion and neatly swipes your intended dinner ingredients all over your nice clean floor.
Swear. Lots. With bells on.
Start again, with even less time, more cleaning up and without the dinner you had been looking forward to. You may even find that slamming cupboard doors helps. Even if it doesn't, do it anyway.
Arse. At least it's cooking now, even if it looks like it won't be ready in time.
