It’s sleeting outside and I’m getting pseudo cabin fever sat here by my desk in my pants, so I think a blog post is in need.
Well… what has happened over the last four weeks. (This is the stage when someone says “tell me something interesting about yourself” and your mind goes black) A lot has happened over the last four weeks, but to be honest I think I’ll focus on the last couple of days.
For example, it’s getting colder and colder here now that autumn has given up. People are all nice and wrapped up in their woollen winter clothes. However, one breed of human is bucking the trend: the joggers.
Oh yes, can there be anything more exhilarating than feeling your skin shatter as you do your third lap of a frozen pond, the icy air battering your face? No, there cannot. To make it worse, joggers still insist on wearing tight, spandex looking skins to show off their amazing flat stomachs and bulging thighs – not that I’ve been looking, obviously.
The most annoying thing about joggers though is their traffic light behaviour. Us normal people are happy to stand and wait – like the red man tells us to do – straight backed, calm, hands by your sides. We’re good citizens that follow a code of conduct in place for our own health and safety. But no, joggers insist on running on the spot like some ridiculous Power Ranger on hot coals. Got to keep moving.
Yesterday one of these offset branches of the species was stood at a crossing with me. While I was stood, she of course was flapping around trying to keep her heart rate up or burn some calories or something of the sorts.
Anyway, there must have been a problem with the traffic lights, because the green man forgot to show during two consecutive cycles. It was brilliant. I didn’t mind the wait, because old leggy here next to me was beginning to grind herself down into the pavement below. She must have been knackered by the time it went green.
When I got in last night – after an intense library workout (who needs a gym when you have a library) – I was walking up the stairs to my apartment when I noticed something different about my route. No, I hadn’t accidentally stumbled into the basement (basement? That should definitely read cellar). Instead, there was a slight change to the décor of the staircase.
The woman below has changed her doormat.
Oh god lord I know what you’re thinking. What was it like? Does it suit the door? Is it better than the old one?
Well, I must say it looks pretty damn snazzy if you ask me. I do have one problem with it though. For the last few months this old bint from downstairs has padded the entrance to her welcome abode with a doggy doormat. The old one had a silhouette of a terrier on it.
This coincided with the terrier within the flat. And what a little shit of a thing it is too. I’ve seen it twice and twice thought it was a yappy little pointless sack of organs loosely constrained within a matted pouch of malting gristle. Surprisingly lifelike to the doormat in touch I imagine. God I’d love to scrape my shows in it’s little gobby face.
Anyway, with the doormat gone I wonder if the dog has pissed off too. Unfortunately the replacement doormat – snazzy as it is – does not present a desirable alternative, as you can see here. There is no way that woman could drag a cow up two flights of stairs.Well that was the last two days really. Apart from me locking myself out of the library for half an hour. Oh, and subjecting some friends to utter torture watching the England v France game on Wednesday.
Actually there’s a point. Four of us were watching the game, and there was a couple sitting opposite us. I say couple, they both looked about 16 – maybe a first date? Two things bothered me:
1) The guy wasn’t watching the football. What an absolute disgrace. He was devoting all his attention of his little ‘on the side’.
2) My god how much attention can a guy give a girl? He wouldn’t keep his face away from her. The poor strumpet could hardly breathe. He kept one sweaty paw over her shoulder the entire night, clinging to her like a Kuala bear to a tree. Every time she tried to move he went in for a good old smooch.
God I feel old. Anyway time for a few pints of ale down in town…
No comments:
Post a Comment