If It's Tuesday, It's Gotta Be...???
I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I indulged in a bit more self-plagiarisation this week (will it make me go blind?) when putting together my column. In my defence, I got up at 5.00am on Sunday and drove 400 miles in six and a half hours to meet up with family before finishing the writing so I was a tad weary.
Mind you, if this pattern of trawling the blog archives for potential newspaper material continues, Daily Record readers could soon be getting the full scoop on the antics in my garden or my large white baps. Maybe then I'd make page 3? Maybe not.
By the time you read these words over your nutritious, Tuesday morning breakfast or during a lull in the five hour excitement that is queuing at a petrol station, I shall be doing one of the following.
1. Sipping espresso in a stylish European city eyeing up elegant European women as they zip along on the backs of their sleek European scooters.
2. Cruising along the fairways of a sun kissed American golf course in my little motorised buggy hoping it won’t be long until the attractive American girl and her cart load of ice cold, American beer make a welcome appearance on the horizon.
3. Lying on a paradise island beach pretending to read ‘The Da Vinci Code’ whilst keeping an eye out for any bikini-clad supermodels in distress among the crashing waves.
4. Shuffling around the house in my dressing gown and slippers waiting for “Loose Women” to come on the telly, wishing I’d thought of something more productive and exciting to do with my week long holiday from work.
Not that I’m implying that watching “Loose Women” is in any way a waste of my precious leisure time. On the contrary, it is one of the most illuminating and educational television programmes around and should be compulsory viewing for all men. Seriously guys, it’s like being a fly on the wall in the girls’ common room where women say what they really think instead of all the confusing feminine double talk we usually encounter. And that Kaye Adams? Beauty and brains personified. And Claire Sweeney. And Terri Dwyer. I could go on and on but I digress.
You see, as I write these words it’s Saturday morning and I haven’t got a single, solitary idea as to what I’m going to do with my week’s holiday. Sure, I could catch up with all those annoying little household chores and half-hearted projects that are crying out to be completed – things like essential nose hair trimming or putting the final flourishes to my Star Trek-themed West End musical, ‘We Will Spock You’. But I’ve got the urge to travel, especially since I have to run my brother to the airport on Monday morning.
If I was brave enough I’d pack a bag and fly off to the first exotic destination that takes my fancy without any thought of accommodation or currency or insurance. However I’d have to spend an inordinate amount of time inside the airport and if there’s one thing I can’t stand in this world its airports. More specifically, the idiotic people who frequent airports.
Why is it that some people instantly lose the ability to read signs, tell time, follow instructions and communicate coherently when they enter an airport. Everywhere you go you see them gazing up at the roof as if they’ve just woken from an unsuccessful lobotomy.
At the check-in desk after queuing for twenty minutes… “Oh, you want to see my passport? I’m sure I have it here somewhere.”
At the security checkpoint… “Oh, I need to take my laptop OUT of its case? Because I thought that all the signs and verbal instructions to take my laptop out of its case meant that I should actually stand here with it IN its case so I can set off the metal detector as I crush through at the same time as all five of my feuding family.”
At the departure gate… “A boarding card? What’s that?”
IDIOTS!
If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll resort to reading The Da Vinci Code with a fridge full of cold Belgian beer whilst enjoying the company of loose women in the comfort of my own home.
1. Sipping espresso in a stylish European city eyeing up elegant European women as they zip along on the backs of their sleek European scooters.
2. Cruising along the fairways of a sun kissed American golf course in my little motorised buggy hoping it won’t be long until the attractive American girl and her cart load of ice cold, American beer make a welcome appearance on the horizon.
3. Lying on a paradise island beach pretending to read ‘The Da Vinci Code’ whilst keeping an eye out for any bikini-clad supermodels in distress among the crashing waves.
4. Shuffling around the house in my dressing gown and slippers waiting for “Loose Women” to come on the telly, wishing I’d thought of something more productive and exciting to do with my week long holiday from work.
Not that I’m implying that watching “Loose Women” is in any way a waste of my precious leisure time. On the contrary, it is one of the most illuminating and educational television programmes around and should be compulsory viewing for all men. Seriously guys, it’s like being a fly on the wall in the girls’ common room where women say what they really think instead of all the confusing feminine double talk we usually encounter. And that Kaye Adams? Beauty and brains personified. And Claire Sweeney. And Terri Dwyer. I could go on and on but I digress.
You see, as I write these words it’s Saturday morning and I haven’t got a single, solitary idea as to what I’m going to do with my week’s holiday. Sure, I could catch up with all those annoying little household chores and half-hearted projects that are crying out to be completed – things like essential nose hair trimming or putting the final flourishes to my Star Trek-themed West End musical, ‘We Will Spock You’. But I’ve got the urge to travel, especially since I have to run my brother to the airport on Monday morning.
If I was brave enough I’d pack a bag and fly off to the first exotic destination that takes my fancy without any thought of accommodation or currency or insurance. However I’d have to spend an inordinate amount of time inside the airport and if there’s one thing I can’t stand in this world its airports. More specifically, the idiotic people who frequent airports.
Why is it that some people instantly lose the ability to read signs, tell time, follow instructions and communicate coherently when they enter an airport. Everywhere you go you see them gazing up at the roof as if they’ve just woken from an unsuccessful lobotomy.
At the check-in desk after queuing for twenty minutes… “Oh, you want to see my passport? I’m sure I have it here somewhere.”
At the security checkpoint… “Oh, I need to take my laptop OUT of its case? Because I thought that all the signs and verbal instructions to take my laptop out of its case meant that I should actually stand here with it IN its case so I can set off the metal detector as I crush through at the same time as all five of my feuding family.”
At the departure gate… “A boarding card? What’s that?”
IDIOTS!
If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll resort to reading The Da Vinci Code with a fridge full of cold Belgian beer whilst enjoying the company of loose women in the comfort of my own home.
posted by Neil @ 8:54 am
2 comments
2 Comments:
Neil,
Loving the Musical idea - you could be Cpt James T Kirk - you'd need to find your Uhurooo though.
Elsewhere much mention of beer & your vain hope of speaking to a girl - S.S ?
DC
Neil lad, I can´t decide if you are hilariously funny or my night shift is feckin with my body clock...I suspect it may be a bit of both. Thanks for deborifyin the night (jaysus, you´d wanna see the great words I´m comin up wid tonight - no goin blind for me just yet!)
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