Something For The Weekend 11
Usually on a Friday, I’ll impart some sage cultural wisdom to my young friend Dave who doesn’t get out much because of his low self-esteem and his honking body odour, which, by the way, nobody advises him about but he can so totally tell there’s something up when he catches them turning up their noses and whispering about him.
It had been my intention to tell him about the classy music I’ve been listening to this week (‘From Langley Park To Memphis’ - Prefab Sprout, ‘Eponymous’ – REM, amongst others), during my commutes to work. But I gave him a lift home from a football game last night and he told me that Prefab Sprout was “much too cheery like” and didn’t fit well with his depressive disposition. I wasn’t listening too intently because of the overpowering smell in the car but in the end, I decided against conveying the musical recommendations this week. Plus, during the game, I took the full impact of a Hot Shot Hamish-like power shot right smack bang in the b#llock brains which resulted in me hitting the deck like I’d been snipered, clutching my nadbag in agony. And you women have the cheek to go on about the so-called ‘trauma’ of childbirth… sheesh!
So since I’m sitting here with a bag of frozen peas between my legs, I don’t have the energy to type much more. Except to say Dave that if you fancy a brisk walk on Saturday morning, get yourself along to the Burtons Biscuit Factory on the Calder Road. It’s just up the street from my office building so I paid their factory shop a visit at lunchtime on Wednesday and came back with half a ton of Toffee Pops and now I’m the most popular guy around. See, you can buy yourself popularity and at only £1.20 for a bag of (at least) a hundred biscuits, it’s a bargain. If that doesn’t work, you can always compensate by eating the whole lot yourself. Cheers.
It had been my intention to tell him about the classy music I’ve been listening to this week (‘From Langley Park To Memphis’ - Prefab Sprout, ‘Eponymous’ – REM, amongst others), during my commutes to work. But I gave him a lift home from a football game last night and he told me that Prefab Sprout was “much too cheery like” and didn’t fit well with his depressive disposition. I wasn’t listening too intently because of the overpowering smell in the car but in the end, I decided against conveying the musical recommendations this week. Plus, during the game, I took the full impact of a Hot Shot Hamish-like power shot right smack bang in the b#llock brains which resulted in me hitting the deck like I’d been snipered, clutching my nadbag in agony. And you women have the cheek to go on about the so-called ‘trauma’ of childbirth… sheesh!
So since I’m sitting here with a bag of frozen peas between my legs, I don’t have the energy to type much more. Except to say Dave that if you fancy a brisk walk on Saturday morning, get yourself along to the Burtons Biscuit Factory on the Calder Road. It’s just up the street from my office building so I paid their factory shop a visit at lunchtime on Wednesday and came back with half a ton of Toffee Pops and now I’m the most popular guy around. See, you can buy yourself popularity and at only £1.20 for a bag of (at least) a hundred biscuits, it’s a bargain. If that doesn’t work, you can always compensate by eating the whole lot yourself. Cheers.
posted by Neil @ 12:49 am
2 comments
2 Comments:
Oh, you big baby! Here's the secret to the agony of childbirth: You don't remember it after it's over. On the other hand, you're gonna remember your injury for a loooooong time.
We also get DRUGS for childbirth! Natural childbirth pah! ;-)
One of my neighbours used to get broken biscuits from McVities in Carlisle for her chickens!
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