Sunday, 8 April 2012

The Whole Point Of No Return

"There was an English pastor who preferred his tea with a flick of fag ash"

Yes, Comrades

So, the John O'Groats saga has drawn to a conclusion. Onwards!

Like that Dinah Washington song says, What A Diff'rence A Day Makes. Bank Holiday on Friday so no packaging frolics for yours truly. Polished off a bottle of wine and next thing we're down the harbour partying like it's 1704. The beauty of that phrase is you can pick pretty much any time and it works. "Let's party like it's last week!" See? "Let's party like it's now!" Not so much. It wasn't until I set foot into the abode that I realised something was amiss with the foot I had just set: wrong shoes. How's that happen? Old and new faces blurred merrily past. Found meself in a conversation talking about The Smiths for at least a solid hour before a hatred of Oasis from my fellow encyclopedia brought a lull in the conversation. Still, no one's perfect. "Complete set of Encyclopedia Britannica volumes for sale. No longer required as wife knows everything" Good crac. On the subject of funny adverts, I saw one in the paper months back that still floors me "Fishing lure for sale. 75p. No timewasters." Anyway. There was an English pastor who preferred his tea with a flick of fag ash in it, it takes all sorts to make a world so they say. There was another droog with clothing designed with pencil sharpenings in mind. See, that's just the right amount of different - meat dresses and pretending you have a second personality called Roman Polanski is just taking the fucking Hob Nob, their cheese slid off their crackers a long time ago. Next up was someone with a bit of a passing interest in the ying yang thing. Apparently she didn't agree with it completely though because there is more yang than ying in the world, particularly in her case. We never did reach a conclusion on whether that was right or not. There was a gentleman who looked so Asian I had to clarify he wasn't or I would get no sleep that night. Turned out to be a good lad. Another chap from Primark also turned out to not have a very Primark personality at all. Not that I thought he did before, but you know, how long can you work in the most boring shop in the bloody world and not pick up some of its traits? Oh, and one particular bastard who is convinced my name is Paul. You're marked.

Saturday and the Jazz Wagon is on its way to The Time Capsule, at long last. It was a scoosh, as my dear old Aunt would say. Ah, Aunt...she says some bloody stupid things. So we're in the gear, me and the mrs, doing the wave pool business and the splishy splashy. She can't swim though, it's hilarious. Her swimming is like a cross between a crawl and a doggy paddle, like a doggy crawl paddle. "Come on, make some bubbles, kick your little legs!" I'm joking, she's actually pretty good. There was one moment of sheer terror in it for me though: We're stood there at the top of the stairs for the flumes (called Lightning and Thunder. Shocking) looking out the window. I'm looking at the love of my life, and she's looking back at me. "I love you" I whisper tenderly, looking at her with all the adoration and respect she deserves. Then some geezer stands near her, looking her over, like he has a few ideas. Every fibre of my being was screaming "Get away from my car, you cunt!" But he wandered off and I braved Thunder, the purple one. Then off to Silverburn, which was shut. Fuck it, had to come here for something, so I got me one and only middle class vice: olives out the delicatessen. A short drive and home.

Easter dinner was nice today, had everything from ham to chicken to sprouts to chicken quiffs to bird arses, was unshiftable by the end.

There are champions in this world, brothers and sisters. Unspoken heroes who deserve more recognition for their achievements. Today I'd like to talk about one of them: me. You've heard of Draw Something? Well, there's a PC variant, Draw A Thing. Could they make their titles any more fucking moronic? Click Your Mouse Button; Look At Screen; Jump On That Bad Fella's Head And He'll Die...all coming 2013. Anyway, yes. First time playing and I'm dominating, eleven victories in a row against a total of about 15 people. Tell me that's not absolutely sensational. I'm the Fonz of drawing games, stand back. Some of my masterpieces:

In a bit.


The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. If you support the legalisation of suicide, like the fruity shitbat you are, send this to your local politician. I guarantee they'll legalise it then

Thursday 25th December 2008

Christmas time, videos and Stella. Cliff Richard's a wanker. Got Bose earphones, Who stickers, a mini DVD player, aftershave, a Bond poster, an Oasis DVD, edible gear and all the stuff mentioned before. Weirdest Christmas yet, normally I'm not putting on aftersun or eating both pork and turkey. Think my presents were appreciated. Watched The Wackness and watched the empty Stellas pile up, then back to Mark's to listen to Wild Wood, play guitars and carry on with my Summer Heights High omnibus. Disappointed to say it didn't feel Christmassy at all, but maybe I've yet to properly understand the Oz vibe. But I must also say, I'm starting to want those ruby slippers.
"Do the fairies keep him sober for a day?"

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