Thursday, March 16, 2006

8.25am is far too early to be yelling "Twat!" to a stranger.

Despite previous attempts to stop writing this blog, I have resigned myself to the fact that I simply cannot do it.

The car's been running on fumes of late, and today another challenging decision must be made- can it last one more journey? I've neglected to put the car into neutral when going downhill in the vain attempt of conserving my fuel supplies, and therefore I'm pretty damned sure it'll run out soon.
The fact of the matter is that I have a very strict schedule and only wish to purchase diesel on a weekend or as is sometimes the case, a Monday. Thursday just doesn't seem appropriate, especially as this will no doubt mean me having to re-fill every Thursday, as I rarely will put more petrol than I need to get me back and forth from work. Anyhow, as I have recently been too busy to write this blog, I feel in a tad inappropriate to inform you of this pointless information, so what have I been up to? Furthermore do you care?

The answer to the former questions is that I have been as busy as a bee. I have been working hard in my alter ego existence as a musician and I've been cooped up in the recording studio. It's going well thus far, and the Markus-enforced new and fresher approach to recording has been most effective. Of course, spending my time holed up in a studio resulted in the customary non stop eating of Pizzas, burgers, chips et al, but thankfully I got plenty of exercise going back and forth from the studio. I was, as Jack said, a food bitch.
I even surprised myself that I didn't go into a strop when I was sent out for food, which involved a walk in the bitter cold and rain to the not-so-near-by car park to get my car, and drive around several sandwich shops looking to acquire a bacon sandwich for both Markus and Tom with no luck, asked to go to MacDonald’s, drop the food off, drive back to the car park, then walk back again.

Perhaps I wouldn't have felt such a dog’s body should i have been chief tea maker as per usual. However, I'm still under the pointless abstinence of lent- giving up caffeine? What was I thinking? But the recording has gone swimmingly well.

I also attended another work night out, and despite my reservations it was actually pretty good.

I was forced to drive into work that morning, despite my previous intentions being to catch the train so I can join the 'gang' and go straight from work. Alas, the weather put pay to that idea. A not so difficult choice; get to work dry and warm, as opposed to impending drenching that public transport would have resulted in. After getting in the car I somehow managed to find myself embroiled in a moment of road rage- something I'm ashamed to say is on the increase.

The moment I set off, I noticed a small van approaching me from the opposite direction from myself. Being the charitable sort, I decided that I should inconvenience myself and pull over on the curb in order to let him through. I of course flashed him to indicate my gesture of goodwill. The van slowly trundled towards me, until he was nearly alongside my car. It was at this point when I saw red as it became clear that he wasn't going to offer me a gesture of gratitude-the Wave of Thanks- so I parped my horn and yelled "don't mention it you twat!!!".

The van driver gave me a look that made me instantly loose all my bravery. His face had no doubt been in the way of a few punches over the years, and his ruddy complexion got, well…. ruddier. I decided at this juncture to floor it. And fearing he may cut me off, should he decided to drive down the road parallel to mine, I chose to take an unorthodox route to work.
8.25am is far too early to be yelling "Twat!" to a stranger.

Thankfully Lisa wasn’t in the car that morning otherwise the burly builder would have been the least of my worries.

Of course having the car at work, meant that I had to go home first, which in all honesty came somewhat as a relief as I didn't have to watch Dave get himself ready in his customary red-going out-shirt getting all excited, then waiting painfully for about 40 minutes whilst Sean decides to write War and Peace in a sequence of ‘urgent’ emails before leaving. Then there’s the “who’s going with who?” queries relating to who’s is driving. This usually continues to the point of nausea. It gives me a headache just thinking about it.

It also meant that I had to wear my civilian clothing rather than my trusty work shirt, trousers and tie ensemble. Fearing reprisals from my colleagues, I decided that my converse trainers would not doubt be a poor idea and was therefore forced to wear my shoes. I also felt it necessary to don my Flemmings Jeans which I was given to by the designer for our trip to SXSW in Texas last year, despite the fact that the buttons on the fly fall off every time you undo them, which as I'm sure you can imagine, is a little embarrassing when going to the toilet. But unlike all my other jeans, they weren’t ripped and the bottom and ,more importantly they were clean. Jeans and shoes...a very unhappy combination.

Of course upon meeting the fellow employees, I was greeted by 3 individual shouts of "I thought you were going home to get changed" Tres funny chaps, tres funny.

The meal was nice and paid for, along with the drinks, by our soon to be former Director. Although there was much cynicism about his motives beforehand, I can't really fault him for his generosity. I even got on quite well with him chatting readily on matters of which I have no blinking idea about- i.e. Housing. I did have the misfortune of timing my trips to the toilet as the same time as him though. He commented that we must have the same size bladders. Now there's a thought… I was in the uncomfortable position of stepping up the urinal whilst he continued to talk about pensions and mortgages whilst he washed his hands. I just wished he would have washed his hands sooner as I knew the malfunction on my jeans would cause me no end of embarrassment.
Each time he left I would open my fly only to hear the sound of the metal riveted buttons bouncing along Ask's marble floor. They are quite easily re-attached, however, the pains of having to rummage through several urinal cakes in order to find the missing button gets somewhat irksome.

Other than that it went without incident. Alan regaled his only four anecdotes again and soon the conversation turned to football. Alarmingly, whist the conversation of football continued, I noted a young lady (21ish) walk past and start to climb the stairs which we were sat under.
Aye camumba! She was wearing a skirt the size of a belt and as she slowly walked up the stairs I could just about make out what she was trying to say, although I was never a great lip reader.
Once she was out of view I pointed this alarming sight out to all who could hear my whisper. Well okay, perhaps it wasn't technically a whisper, as I'm actually incapable of whispering, which has actually landed me in hot water before- notably during my GCSE's exams when I asked for more paper and whispered in the ear of the female games teacher, who everyone hated. She said I was being too loud and threatened to send me out of the examination hall for not adhering to the whisper rulings.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I told everyone that she was wearing the most ridiculously short skirt. Debbie thought I was taking the piss, and did her usual laugh (she thinks I'm joking all the time and laughs hysterically often with no cause-I think....although it has just occurred that she is probably laughing AT me.) Tony, rightly pointed out that girls don't wear skirts like that if they didn't want people to look. He has a valid point I suppose.
There restaurant’s air was thick with the smell of expectation as she finally re-surfaced and walked down the stairs. Alas, some of my colleagues were a little less subtle than I. Dave notably craned his neck to ensure he got a proper look, laughing loudly like Sid James. i had to look away. I was mortified that everyone had made it so bleedin' obvious.
Once she had taken her seat, people continued to eat.
It was then relayed to us that her boyfriend was making a scene, upset that she had flaunted her nether regions to us and possibly the other diners too. Our party suddenly looked sheepish.

I also decided that seeing that I wasn't paying the banoffee pie wouldn't be a bad idea.


Birthdays are coming around fast, and my bro's birthday is tomorrow. No doubt the pubs across the world will doff their caps, and enjoy their own little McParty. Lisa's birthday is next Friday. I have little to no idea as what to get for her birthday, and I'm already getting stressed about it. Perhaps she may like a Fender Jazz Bass Guitar? Here's hoping!

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