Yes, unemployment makes me a bit more verbose than usual, so here is a selection of thoughts on the past week.
Shopping
Never ask people if they want anything from the shop. You do it out of social nicety and for a harmonious house-share but as soon as your housemate spills out a list of the heaviest shopping imaginable, you stand in front of them swearing like a one legged sailor in a storm, in your head of course, wondering why you are so bloody stupid. After the brief interlude of four lettered words, you duly make a mental note of what they want and leave the house. You brave the cold and wet and finally get into Tesco, buy the necessary stuff and leave. You get halfway home and realise that you’ve only bought said housemates shopping and not your own.
Apologies to anyone near Nonna’s on Thursday night who heard my potty mouth shrieking “Fuckingbastardcuntinghell”. I had to go back with earlier shopping, get what I wanted and then proceed struggle my nuts off to get ALL the shopping back home without losing several fingers to frost bite and the restriction of blood to the fingers.
Winter vomiting virus
Fuck me. Every paper you read has got some headline like “4 million people winter death virus” at the moment. Doctor Chris on This Morning said the other day that it is hugely infectious and with it you can “projectile vomit up to three feet”. I don’t know about you but I’ve never wanted to relive the moment in The Exorcist in which Linda Blair jets pea soup out of her gob. I hate being sick and I always end up distraught because I hate the sensation of chucking up my insides through my mouth. I’ll lie on the bathroom floor in tears because I hate it so much and I’ll do anything, ANYTHING, to avoid it. Therefore I have thought it sensible to review house hygiene levels as shared houses are a breeding ground of germs and spores and, I’ve got to stop there as this is making me dizzy. I have now turned into some Adrian Monk-like character who cannot stop washing their hands and sprays antibac on every surface imaginable and, more importantly, fears for public places. I may not leave the house again.
Michael Portillo
BBC2 will be airing a documentary next week presented by none other than Michael Portillo. Portillo will be discussing the death penalty in America and, by the advert running on BBC at the moment, it looks like they are going to lethal injection the bastard. I’m setting the video as I type. Fingers crossed that they get 0.1mg of death juice confused with 100mg. There is some great TV to be had there.
Rupert the Bear
Not the lovable bear from childhood, but some freak outside Blockbusters the other day. “Hello, it’s Rupert the Bear here. Could you get Mummy for me?” Overhearing that phone conversation from a man who looked like a cross between Rod Hull and Leo Sayer, I could only come to the conclusion that this was swinger code for "let's have wild monkey sex tonight". Just imagine that if you will. Picture it, come on use your imagination, there you go: hideous really.
When I heard that and was so stunned I nearly took my face out on concrete pillar.
British Gas Bills
Nearly £500 quid for six months power – you really are a bunch of money grabbing bastards aren’t you?
Darts
Oddly hypnotic and the only time you will see men with massive beer bellies play a sport.
Hot Water Bottles
They seem like an amazing idea when you can’t feel your feet and the house is tightening its collective purse strings, but when you wake up a four in the morning, feeling something warm in bed with you, you’d be forgiven for thinking that some pervert has crept into bed with you. Well, that’s what I’m going with after waking up and literally being unable to breathe until I realise it was a hot water bottle, not a freak.
