Friday, 14th June 2019.
The day was a little tiring but we achieved reasonable goals. The only real hiccup was having a fry-up in an Italian restaurant where they didn’t have brown sauce.
“but love, how am I supposed to enjoy my Cumberland’s?”
These things seem to matter at the time.
The rest of the day went like this:
Fuck all that. I’m home now. I’ve got 5 bottles of lager. That’s my evening right there.
As long as I’m in Victoria by 7am tomorrow, everything will be fine.
After that, as usual, physical and psychological limits might be pushed.
Saturday, 15th June 2019.
Hounslow West is definitely right near the top of the list of places I don’t want to be at 6am on a Saturday morning.
Then again, it is the metaphysical bed I have made for myself so, I shouldn’t be moaning.
“I don’t mind, as long as there’s a bed beneath the stars that shine.”
Typical. The district line is shut. I’d better go to green park then. Tut.
Finally arrived. Bought the coffees. Now I’m standing on a ladder.
And I’m done. The battle of tube cancellation is still to be dealt with but I’ve got as far as Green Park. I’ll be OK providing the Piccadilly line doesn’t fuck me over like it did last Saturday.
I managed to squeeze onto the third packed tube.
I’m home. I think I’ve been here half an hour or 2 bottles of Corona.
The job I did was for a company belonging to a certain, double barrel named, conservative twat wanker who thinks the word “empire” didn’t involve rape, theft and slavery. I’m disappointed with my light fingered-ness. Especially when it is from such a quality walker but I got what I got.
12 x black Sharpies.
6 x disposable fountain pens.
1 x eraser.
I gave 4 Sharpies each to The Bouch and Big Dave. The erasure is for Big Gay Jay.
The rest is mine.
I do like pens.
Sunday, 16th June 2019.
There is nothing worse than waking up and realising there is no milk in the house. Perhaps a paper-cut?
Here’s me, walking to the shop:
And here I am ten minutes after that:
And then I had square crumpets:
With added screwdriver!
I’m supposed to be starting a zero-fat, Christian Bale in the machinist diet tomorrow. It’s because of all the fat blokes I work with. I said I’d join in. They have to look normal and I have to look like skin draped over bones.
I doubt I’ll have to put much effort in but I’ll need to make a protein rich pack lunch.
I explained it to Bear. His opinion is quite clear.
I’m boiling eggs, roasting lamb and roasting pork. It’s an odd combo. Obviously, I’m not eating it together.
Or maybe I will?
There goes the weekend then. All over. All zipped up and filed away in the past.