When You've Got No Use for Time.

Another weekend flies past all too quickly once again and like the majority of the population I too must wrestle with another Monday morning and engage in the trivialities of weekend conversation; football results, weather, Ikea, DIY and Saturday night Out anecdotes et al.

Like most weekends of late, my time was split between the visiting of my mother and trudging around a plethora of inane household shops with Lisa. My mum and my Grandparents were on good form on Saturday, and food was forced upon me as only my grandmother can do.

I woke early on Saturday as hungry as a mule and decided that whilst carrying out a list of errands that needed to be sorted before my departure to York, I would visit a fast food establishment with the intention of consuming something fattening. So I tip toed out of the flat and after my main objective of giving Jon & Eve their Manchester Vs Cancer concert tickets I drove on to my local outlet of McDonalds with naughty grin splashed across my soon to be fatter face.

When I drove to the window, I was greeted by a very familiar face, that of a young girl whom I walk past every day on the way to the train station. This flustered me somewhat as if someone could now verify my guilt's existence. I ashamedly asked for a cheeseburger, fries and a cup of tea. She looked quite bemused and flustered herself, so I came to her rescue as I realised it was only 10.15 am and quite clearly too early for the 'meals'.
"Is it too early?" I asked.
"Erm...yeah."
"It doesn't matter" and I drove away. I wasn't going to compromise my desire for comfort food by having to chose something from the 'breakfast menu'. No, a traditional sandwich shop was the sensible alternative.
I visited the shop opposite the McDonald below where I used to live with Steve, and asked for a sausage and cheese sandwich, which whilst asking for it infront of the Daily Star/News Of The World crew, l felt like a deviant.
I was happy enough with the sandwich, but whilst I drove in silence towards Yorkshire, I realised that the mounds of grated cheeses, coupled with the economy sausages was too rich of a combination for natural consumption, hence why so few establishments advertise it as an option.

As mentioned previously, my mum and grandparents were on top form. Perhaps it was the extra stodge in my system but I felt extremely drowsy for most of the afternoon, and soon I found myself fighting to keep my eyes open. As my g'parents eat about 4 hours earlier that I do, we went for a bite at the 3 Cups pub in Stamford Bridge ( tea at 5pm!!!). I of course was still full, but managed to negotiate my way through a steak and ale pie and I also managed to insert a wooden spoon in a bottle of vinegar in error (don't ask).

For Sat night festivities, Lisa and I watched the 80's classic: Weird Science.
It had been a while since I saw it last and I remember two of the following from my youth. Firstly, I believed that even if you weren't the most popular guy at school you could still have the potential to pull the school hottie, although one did require assistance from a computer made goddess in the form of Kelly Le Brock. As I grew up glued to my Commodore Amiga, I realised this wasn't the case, and infact most of the school hotties would be knocked up by the age of 22 and didn't care, as I was led to believe, for the sensitive types, unless of course they had a Porsche. (except for the Sally Williams Incident, whereupon I wrongly assumed that as she was a hottie she would have no interest in the likes of me, and when being told she fancied me I took it as a cruel joke- no doubt the sad details will appear on this blog at somepoint in the future)

The second misapprehension, was that all house parties would be like the one they have. I remember my first house party being the now legendary Sarah Head party in her parent’s terraced house in Bilton, but disappointingly it was just a mess of under age drinkers, cigarette induced sickness, sloppy kissing and ‘Blood, Sugar, Sex Magic’ being played repeatedly throughout. I mentioned this at the party scene and Lisa thought the same. It is still a fine film nonetheless, and the extensive work of John Hughes should be more revered that it is. I mean, the guy wrote and directed so many consistently good films, and 'Planes, Train & Automobiles', 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off' and 'Breakfast Club' should have his name mentioned along with the likes of Woody Allen, Hal Hartley and Wes Anderson.

Sunday brought on another dreaded trip to Ikea. Sadly this time weren't all wide eyed and in awe of the beech veneered furniture, this time it felt like a pain in the ass. I found myself judging the couples who also walked around looking to see if a set of shelves would look right in their living room. I would judge whether he was too good for her, or she was too good for him, this amused me until me head began to hurt and I started to roll my eyes with impatience. Thankfully we weren't there too long, but the whole trip was marred by an incident involving a Turkey baster.

We had spent the best part of 10 minutes looking for one, but despite coming across every variety of kitchen utensils from Pizza cutters to grapefruit slicers I couldn't find any, so decided to ask one of the apron clad assistants for some help. The chap whom I asked was putting glasses onto a display tower and wore a look of sickening despondency. I politely asked him whereupon one might locate the basters. His reply:
"I don't think we sell them"
I took immediate umbrage with this statement and repeated:
"You don't think you sell them?"
To which he grunted something.

I walked on and let my fury be known to Lisa, who of course took a diplomatic approach and told me to stop bleedin' moaning. But the fact still remains he didn't think they had any.
Later upon our journey back to Liverpool, I continued this thought. Lisa suggested that perhaps he was new or had been working for twelve hours straight or something and was waiting for we annoying customers to go. I mean, I have worked in several Supermarkets where indeed you are dying for the customers to bugger off, however basic customer service skills always prevented me from being unhelpful.
He didn't think they had any. This statement was not a conclusive answer to my simple question. Surely he could have asked one of his co-workers or even just lied and told me that they definitely didn't have any. I would have appreciated this more than his apathy.

The flat now has a linen chest, two beech veneer chest of drawers and yet another bookshelf all still in their packaging and require assembly. No doubt my ISS Pro Evolution 5 training will suffer.
‘The’ Asda tonight.
Great. Thankfully I have my job to keep me sane.