I am back from my wondrous holiday now, have been for a few days actually. All the note worthy details will soon be available somewhere around here. *points vaguely at the screen*
More importantly though, I had a shower about five minutes ago. Normally hair washing ensued closely followed by generally hygienic cleansing. Whilst humming a jaunty tune to myself I happened look down; I was still wearing my socks.
It’s that time of year again, more or less. You know the one, summer holidays with your beloved family and all that. I hate it. Having said that…
I’m looking forwards to going away tomorrow. I’ve been in the city far too long. I miss the trees and the grass and things. Besides countryside has cows and I plan to find a purple one. It is my mission, if I choose to accept it. I’ll probably end up lost in the woods somewhere and stumble across some kind of picnic, possibly of the teddy bear variety. We can but hope.
I’m pretty sure that this year’s trip will prove more successful than last year’s. We won’t be taking any boys who only speak English when it suits them, eats raw bacon, thinks I’m his personal whore and drinks several litres of fresh orange juice a day, which is not only expensive but has proven very messy, in his case at least. Messy on the carpet kind of messy, if you get my meaning. Yes, none of those types of people are coming this time. Thank the dear lord. Yup, it’ll be just me on a commercialised farm, with trees and fields and of course there will be cows too. Goes without saying really. I hope to go exploring for most of the time apart from late in the night when I will obviously be playing video games. Video games of the gods I might add.
There will be no cute stable boys for me to kiss in the hay barn like the good ol’ days. Though somehow I don’t think some people would approve of such things. Besides I’ve moved on from stable boys, I obviously still go for the whole rustic charm thing though. Damn that hay.
So, yeah, away for two weeks, I’ll send a postcard to whoever sends me their address by about 9am tomorrow morning…
Jesus Christ pipe tobacco smoke doesn’t half cling to you. Today a man walked in to the shop smoking a pipe, he was here for about three minutes. I still stink of tobacco and that’s five showers and seven bottles of perfume later. (Note – all information in this entry may not be entirely true and will not hold up as evidence in a court of law.)
My blog entries are like buses, you wait around ages for one and then three (four if you count this one) come a long at once. Aint that always the way…*tuts*
I want to eat so much of something that I turn in to it. I’m trying with nutri-grain but so far no luck and I eat a substantial amount of nutri-grain to be honest with you. I’ve yet to even vaguely resemble a nutri-grain bar, blueberry or otherwise. I’m slightly disappointed and I’m being to realise the whole thing might be one of those ‘old wives tales’. Not that I think old wives are particularly dishonest, no more than any other category of people, it’s just what people say. For all I know though, old wives could be very dishonest people who like to make up stories to confuse and/or scare small children. As of this day I will not be taken in by them anymore. I no longer believe that if I eat enough nutri-grain I will turn in to a tasty blueberry nutri-grain bar, however much I might want to.
Maybe ‘old wives’ is actually a cult of some sort that you can only join if you like to spread strange and untrue rumours. I should consider joining them; I bet you get a really cool badge when you do. Purple and shiny and things. Ace.
Whilst I was at work the other day I had to sign for a parcel. I made the nice deliveryman swear to me that it wasn’t a bomb. He said e wouldn’t dare blow up a nice looking ‘lady’ like me, which I thought was odd seeing as he didn’t even know it was me who was going to be in the shop when he delivered it, unless he’s been watching me. *Looks around cautiously*
I was kind of disappointed today when I fund out it was nothing even nearly as interesting as a bomb. It’s a box of till rolls. I don’t get it. Why do we need them, the till doesn’t even print receipts? So, now I’m keeping my eyes open for any news reports about cases of houses that have been ‘toilet papered’ with till rolls. I’ll know where to go. I’m thinking if I help the police out with that then they’ll owe me some favours and I can get a job for my friend and possibly some protection for when I start my illegal nutbuni domesticating business. (More info coming soon)
Seventeen moths ambushed me this morning. SEVENTEEN. (Note – Read ‘seventeen’ as ‘two’) I thought it was some kind of secret assassination attempt. Then reality hit me and I realised that two moths had no chance of assassinating a fully grown human, maybe a small child who weighs about forty pounds, but a fully matured (at least physically, if not mentally) girl, nope not a chance. My life is safe for another few hours at least. Anyway, I came to the conclusion that they were waiting for their allies and other military moth type people. The need a lot of moth power to achieve what is it they want. And that my friends, and avid sex slaves, is the assai nation of the man in charge, in charge of things in my house I mean. That is, my father ladies and gentlemen. He is going down and let me tell you, everyone will know about it. I don’t know who hired these moth warriors for the mission, or if they took it upon themselves. All I know is I wish them the best of luck. God speed. Vie la moth!…or something.
Yesterday I got cramp in my hand. After any kind of repetitive exertive activity one’s muscles have a tendency to rebel. Of course, untangling the best part of a hundred metres of nylon string, and then binding it around a prototype KeepYourStringTidyThing™ (patent pending, yes, we are working on the name) tends to give your hands something to complain about.
Where did I do this I hear you ask? Well, imagine you might be wondering rather than actually hearing anybody ask. Where else would I have the time, patience and inclination to perform such a task? Work, of course.
