Well, my last day of freedom before the humdrummery of work kicks me in the bracket. At least the pain will last only 3 days, then another long weekend.
I woke early, fuckwits rolling home pissed in street kept me awake until the early hours. Felt inspired to fiddle around last night with iTunes, trying to think of a meaningful playlist to herald a brand new chapter in my life. The name? 'Easter 2011'. Fuck me sideways. Need to get my mojo back - and quickly.
Got to Newcastle this morning before the shops opened. Went to Starbucks for a cappuccino (less froth, more coffee next time, please) and sat with the early-morning cauliflower heads who were in there reading the papers. Since when could pensioners afford Starbucks? Moreover, should they not be sipping milky coffee in British Home Stores? Ah, forgot - it's now Primark. Bastards.
After that, did a bit of shopping. Got sick of surly shop assistants asking 'do you want a bag for that?'. Then, went to buy a spade at B & Q. Jesus, the amount of people buying pansies, gravel, wood chippings, etc, etc was just ludicrous. Got to the checkout and threw a total 'hissy fit' - chucked the spade down and flounced out of the store. Total 'Elton John' moment, I am embarrassed to say. Then took myself off to Wickes and bought a spade there (it didn't have their name on it though, so feel rather cheated).
Back home, had crab pate on crusty bread and a raspberry royale from Marksies - heavenly. Then to balance my equilibrium looked at the internet for symptoms of liver and pancreatic cancer. Convinced I will go the same way as the folks did. What does this say about me?
Monday 25 April 2011
Sunday 24 April 2011
Easter Sunday
OK, I am a little concerned. I haven't actually spoken with anyone since Friday. Seriously. Can you count the chap at the cushion counter in John Lewis yesterday? I think not. Oh, and in the butchers, I asked the assistant for a 'large pork sandwich, plenty of stuffing' - Christ, that sounds a tad sexual. Worrying.
Anyway, the start of a new blog for me. My past creations were aimed at the wrong level I fear (the gutter). So, what better day to start something fresh than Easter Sunday? This has sod-all to do with my religious leanings - just that the shops are shut, and I have nothing to do and nowhere to go.
From the creative hub of my bedroom, I see that the locals are out with their deck-chairs. Octogenarians Madge and Margaret are sat in their porch wearing the most ridiculous head gear. Madge sporting a quite ridiculous baseball cap which makes her look like some kind of American-tan tight wearing, Scholl sandal- adorned bank robber. Margaret has wisely opted for the style of millinery that (wisely) completely covers her head, a sun-hat - as large as that one that was worn by the bird in the crass early 80's adaptation of Agatha Christie's 'Evil Under The Sun' - anyone remember that? Madge's daughter is also there, bedecked with another baseball cap, but she has her head back on her 1970's deckchair and has 'nodded off' with her mouth wide open. Attractive. She wouldn't look out of place (in her normal day wear) in Prisoner Cell Block H. Scary.
I had contemplated a walk to the local beach, but thought better of it. Too many boy racers and women wearing skirts the size of tea-bags.
I adore people-watching, though. Is there anything better than just picking fault at everyone else in the world??
Going off on a tangent, a la Ronnie Corbett...I simply don't understand why small shops are allowed to open on Easter Sunday, yet the larger ones have to shut. Any comments gratefully accepted. You see, today would have been the perfect day for a coffee and scone with Miss Underscore - although she appears to have developed 'bloggers in-step' so cannot walk without limping. Hope it's improving, Miss Underscore.
Oh, Christ on a bike...the noisy neighbours next door have just returned. This is the 'clampett' neighbour who got her belly out when I was speaking to her in the street - to show me the scar from her hiatus hernia op. Unpleasant is not the word.
Anyway, the start of a new blog for me. My past creations were aimed at the wrong level I fear (the gutter). So, what better day to start something fresh than Easter Sunday? This has sod-all to do with my religious leanings - just that the shops are shut, and I have nothing to do and nowhere to go.
From the creative hub of my bedroom, I see that the locals are out with their deck-chairs. Octogenarians Madge and Margaret are sat in their porch wearing the most ridiculous head gear. Madge sporting a quite ridiculous baseball cap which makes her look like some kind of American-tan tight wearing, Scholl sandal- adorned bank robber. Margaret has wisely opted for the style of millinery that (wisely) completely covers her head, a sun-hat - as large as that one that was worn by the bird in the crass early 80's adaptation of Agatha Christie's 'Evil Under The Sun' - anyone remember that? Madge's daughter is also there, bedecked with another baseball cap, but she has her head back on her 1970's deckchair and has 'nodded off' with her mouth wide open. Attractive. She wouldn't look out of place (in her normal day wear) in Prisoner Cell Block H. Scary.
I had contemplated a walk to the local beach, but thought better of it. Too many boy racers and women wearing skirts the size of tea-bags.
I adore people-watching, though. Is there anything better than just picking fault at everyone else in the world??
Going off on a tangent, a la Ronnie Corbett...I simply don't understand why small shops are allowed to open on Easter Sunday, yet the larger ones have to shut. Any comments gratefully accepted. You see, today would have been the perfect day for a coffee and scone with Miss Underscore - although she appears to have developed 'bloggers in-step' so cannot walk without limping. Hope it's improving, Miss Underscore.
Oh, Christ on a bike...the noisy neighbours next door have just returned. This is the 'clampett' neighbour who got her belly out when I was speaking to her in the street - to show me the scar from her hiatus hernia op. Unpleasant is not the word.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)