My word it’s been a while – I do apologise! I’ve just moved house so had to wait for t’internet to catch up with me. I was having some serious withdrawal symptoms for a while there. Anyway I’m secretly rather pleased (or at least it was secret until I just told everyone) that people noticed I was gone. Having said that, I see none of you were too worried I might be lying injured at the bottom of my stairs being licked to death by cocker spaniels. Where were all the firemen and ambulance people bashing my door down trying to come to my rescue eh? I certainly know who I can count on *gives you all the evil eye*
So, lets see if I can come up with some more random babble to fill up this journal page…
A fair bit has happened to me in the last few weeks. I’ve deferred university until September (for various reasons) so I’m now living back in my house in Reading. Moving house is a pretty miserable experience and I’ve now lost somewhere in the region of 2 pints of blood just from cardboard cuts – which are FAR worse than paper cuts, believe me – simply from moving all the boxes. Where are all the big muscly men offering to help you move when you need them?
There was also a fairly interesting moment when I got out of the shower a few days ago and walked naked into my bedroom to find a family of Chinese people and a rather startled estate agent who apparently didn’t get the message that I was taking my house off the market. Never one to miss out on a learning opportunity, I now know how to say “Argh! My eyes! My eyes!” in Mandarin.
I then nipped down to Bournemouth to start moving some of my stuff back up to Reading. I was enjoying the car trip down until I decided I really REALLY didn’t want my chewing gum in my mouth anymore. It gets to the point where it loses its taste and starts to feel like I’m chewing on rubber. Know what I mean? No? Oh. That’d just be me then.
Anyway, I don’t like throwing it out the window (even if I didn’t hate littering, a chewing gum pelted car isn’t a good look) and didn’t have anything to put it in so I decided to make a gum shield out of it instead. I realise this does not make me sound sane. Just spare a thought for the Rude Boy who tried to chat me up (rather crudely I might add) at the traffic lights only for me to turn around and give him my best [gumshielded] smile. His reaction was very similar to:
which then made me piss myself. He tried to screech away when the lights turned green but stalled and I laughed so much I inhaled my gum shield and almost choked and died. Still, it sorted out what I was going to do with my chewing gum anyway.
I decided not to risk getting another parking ticket after the trouser-ripping escapade and had to park about a mile away from my flat. I walked back to my halls in the usual gale force winds you get with living by the sea and for the first time felt grateful that I’m a bit chubby. My widescreen butt was the only thing stopping me from turning into a human kite. Still apparently the walking-against-60-mile-an-hour-wind-whilst-crying-from-your-hair-whipping-you-in-the-eye look works well because some tramp said “ello gorgeous!” and offered me some of his cider. Tempting. He then handed me a flyer for rock climbing which flew away in the wind and hit someone right in the face. I would have laughed (bout time something like that happened to someone other than me) but the string from the hoodie I was wearing flew up and whipped me right in the eye. Karma.
Had I been able to see anything I’m sure I’d have appreciated the sight of the guy keeled over with paper cuts in his eyes (he should be grateful the flyer wasn’t made out of cardboard), me weeping from being whipped with string and the tramp sobbing slightly because I wouldn’t have any of his cider. All this crying on the day I hear Bournemouth’s apparently officially the happiest place in Britain… Frankly I’m not convinced.
So yeah, I’m back. Did I miss anything?
Oh okay I figured out how to find your journal again. Buh I liek cake. I would have called emergency services but they don’t take calls from ‘yanks ponces’ whatever that means. Oh I get it! Gum, gum shield! Two words that sound the same but have different meanings are called homophobes. A tramp offering you his cider means he wants to make you his queen. I dunno Bournemouth sounds alright, remember, this is in comparison with the rest of Britain. I mean really.
Oh, I forgot, no one’s ass is that big, you lie like the rug.
Quite possibly some of the most random comments you’ve ever left me – good work.
My ass isn’t that big, you’re right. Not anymore, anyway. Greenpeace have stopped trying to roll me back into the sea which is something I suppose.
Woo, I claim the title of first-person-other-than-QCN-and-the-original-poster-to-comment-here. That has a nice ring to it. Still, I’m too late for this reply to mean anything, so I can type completely random stuff and it won’t matter, right? Wibble. How liberating. Oh yeah, I moved house a few months back and ended up with an assortment of cardboard cuts, wood bruises and lifting-stupidly-large-television aches. Also, a tramp stopped me the other week and told me I look like Christopher Dean. He didn’t offer me cider though; he wanted me to buy him some. The cheek…
Heh – I’ve never wanted to be an estate agent so much in my life. OK I’ve never wanted to be an estate agent at all in my life, but in this case, it means something.