Cycling to work...it's something that lightens my mood, enhances my day and gives me pretty much the only form of (blogable) exercise I seem to be able to find the time for.
So - imagine my heartache this morning when, upon arriving at work in the manner to which I'd become accustomed over the past two years, I discover the "flaps are closed" and my "entry refused"! I couldn't believe it!
Thankfully I'd left home in good time, so such a fuckup wasn't necessarily going to result in me being scalded (yet again) by my timekeeper extraordinaire boss.
But the crux is that instead of leaving my beloved horse tucked away nice and safe in the stables below our offices, I have to chain him up to a bar in what can only be described as a cycle graveyard in the carpark of the building around the corner!!
I've just been out and checked the sitch...my bike's still there...but there are three and a half hours of the working day left - and in an hour and a half the little bastards, or school children as they're also called, will be out and roaming the streets - looking for bikes to steal, old ladies to stab and concrete to eat...jesus...I might need to get a babysitter...
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
deathbug rampant 49er
My weekend has proved more troublesome than it was really worth.
I'm suffering frequent liquid exits ever since enjoying the barf-bee-queue at a communal fireworks display on Sunday. I pushed a burger past my lips, a potato, some cheese and onions, a sausage and then some chicken - where I believe the blame lies.
Being a fireworks party it was dark, dark enough to enjoy the warm glow from the bonfire and the sparkle and flash of the fireworks as they took their turns to dazzle and crackle off up in the night sky. It was also a perfect opportunity for me to unwittingly pick out the most gloopey uncooked piece of poultry I could've...and then to stuff it down into me belly where it would fester, battling with the alcohol already in residence. The war seemed to rage on through the night - booze obviously holding it back for some time, until I'd absorbed all the sugar. Then the chicken took flight and darted off into my system, kicking my guts firmly in the metaphorics.
Monday was tricky...sporadic bouts of chucky and anal fling. By the evening I thought I'd sorted myself out, but then came slumber...and with it the chance for my body defenses to once again become the target for a most horrendous attack!
Up half the night with a gurgling gut, reminiscent of the Wampa ice monster in Empire.
Trekking to and fro between my pit (now stinking rancid from parps born of the most evil and putrid of gasses) and the bathroom (stinking pretty much the same...apologies owed to flatmates for days to come...joy), finding what little temporary entertainment I can throughout the early hours before finally settling down to some snooze.
No work again today - this week is proving expensive...
So I guess I'll go and try to make myself something to eat. Dry toast was what people who knew best always told me to eat when suffering so. Dry toast sucks though! I want some nice food!
More tea vicar? Yeah, yeah sure - let's have another cup, why not?!
Jesus.
There isn't even any snooker on.
I'm suffering frequent liquid exits ever since enjoying the barf-bee-queue at a communal fireworks display on Sunday. I pushed a burger past my lips, a potato, some cheese and onions, a sausage and then some chicken - where I believe the blame lies.
Being a fireworks party it was dark, dark enough to enjoy the warm glow from the bonfire and the sparkle and flash of the fireworks as they took their turns to dazzle and crackle off up in the night sky. It was also a perfect opportunity for me to unwittingly pick out the most gloopey uncooked piece of poultry I could've...and then to stuff it down into me belly where it would fester, battling with the alcohol already in residence. The war seemed to rage on through the night - booze obviously holding it back for some time, until I'd absorbed all the sugar. Then the chicken took flight and darted off into my system, kicking my guts firmly in the metaphorics.
Monday was tricky...sporadic bouts of chucky and anal fling. By the evening I thought I'd sorted myself out, but then came slumber...and with it the chance for my body defenses to once again become the target for a most horrendous attack!
Up half the night with a gurgling gut, reminiscent of the Wampa ice monster in Empire.
Trekking to and fro between my pit (now stinking rancid from parps born of the most evil and putrid of gasses) and the bathroom (stinking pretty much the same...apologies owed to flatmates for days to come...joy), finding what little temporary entertainment I can throughout the early hours before finally settling down to some snooze.
No work again today - this week is proving expensive...
So I guess I'll go and try to make myself something to eat. Dry toast was what people who knew best always told me to eat when suffering so. Dry toast sucks though! I want some nice food!
More tea vicar? Yeah, yeah sure - let's have another cup, why not?!
Jesus.
There isn't even any snooker on.
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