Can't argue with a (girls) 4 year olds logic..
(bellowed down the stairs)
Maaaaaam.... What day is it today??
-Sunday!
Is it Wednesday tomorrow?
-No.. Monday!
Is it Friday then??
-No.. Tuesday!
Oh ok! I can paint my toenails then!
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
The Welsh Wanker, Killer Squirrels and Other Tales
So... let me first re-iterate that I like Wales, very much; as it happens the story of "The Welsh Wanker" is only one of the mis-adventures that I happened to come across (for want of a better word) whilst working for a firm, way back in the later 90's, and such tales are to follow:
"The Welsh Wanker"
So... as said above, I worked for a firm, which involved me being sort of pimped out to the highest bidder, on development projects in and around the UK, places such as Camberley, Glasgow and Bristol and it was whilst being sent to these far flung places, that I'd either be put up in Hotels, Guesthouses or Rented houses; Now more often than not, if it was a rented house, you would obviously be put up with a number of house-mates, and depending on the order you came into the house, that basically decided which room you got.... I was in last (by minutes) and as such, got the shittest room.
My other 2 housemates, were an African bloke "Ngoku" (see below stories about "Shadow Boxing" and "Night Blindness") and a Welsh lad (who'd been there for months) and for anonymity, lets call him, oh I dunno... "Kevin"
So... what was Kevin's story?
He actually was the closest living to the rented house as we were in Bristol, however, he stayed at the house at weekends, and as myself and Ngoku lived far far away, we would often drive home on friday evenings and not return until late sunday nights, or sometimes the Monday mornings, leaving Kevin to basically violate every room in the house with his habitual "Masterbating"
...and when I say 'habitual' I mean, non-stop! from the evidence that would quite often be on display when I would return back to the house, usually on a dark and stormy sunday night, and this I worked out because the guy was basically constantly asleep, thankfully I never walked in to find him passed out on the couch, cock-in-hand, but I'm sure that was because I made a big deal of revving my engine when I pulled onto the drive. I learned quite quickly that giving him that few minutes notice that I would be arriving would suffice him to remove all traces (something that a CSI 'ultraviolet Black Light' would reveal as an aftermath scene from a Porno or Charlie Sheen's Bedroom)
I regularly walked in to find the living room carpet, littered with balls of toilet tissue clumped up like a snowballs on a snowy christmas evening...
It was liking into a Minefield.... A "Jizz" Minefield!
...very 'cheap' Executive relief magazines spread across every part of the couch, and numerous 70's video magazines (you know the sort, with the good bits all blurry from being paused too many times!? No?!)
One particular morning, when we got up, I did my usual mother-hen, walking around knocking on the various bed-room doors, to make sure we were all up, as we rotated who drove to work (to save on our petrol, even though we were all claiming petrol expenses)
This particular morning, Kevin didn't answer?
I knocked again, and then returned after myself and Ngoku had been down to breakfast...
Oh for F*cks sake!
Kevin was passed out on his bed, THANKFULLY most of his quilt was across his loins, no doubt stuck there had he managed to stand up, and the scene from the living room had been re-played in his bedroom, I decided there and then, that 'should I?' ever manage to be the last one in this house when the new arrivals land, that I will NOT be promoting myself up the hierarchy into this bedroom, I'd have to fumigate it first!
I've blocked the Toilet, and err... Flooded the Bathroom
This tale, again involves Kevin, and I was still in the smallest of the rooms, and this particular morning it was Kevin who did the knocking, but with the knock came a whimper...
Oh Crap???
has he haemorraged himself or worse case, actually pulled it off?
I opened the door, taking care to look at him, "head height" (and you know I mean the 'upper' head don't you!?) to find him actually welling up, very teary eyed and looking like a puppy.
"Sh*t Kevin.... whats up?"
"I've Blocked the Toilet..... and its flooding the bathroom!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!?!?"
I ran into the bathroom, to find water basically spilling over the rim of the toilet, and making one of those dark 'balloon' patterns in the carpet, as the water basically spreads...
I dashed to the toilet ("Splish... Splosh!") to find what appeared to be about a bucket full of toilet paper, rammed into the bottom (I can only imagine what that was all in there for), grabbed the toilet brush, and began Prodding at the mass of tissue, in a vein attempt to push it around the U-bend, which it thankfully did...
but imagine my surprise, upon turning to find 'Ngoku' there, wondering what this crazy Englishman was doing...
"Wheres Kevin?" I asked
"...He's just driven off" was his reply
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTT!?!?!" (sounds like an echo that doesn't it?)
Yes.. .the Welsh W@nker had not only blocked up the Loo, but had p*ssed off to work as well, leaving us to clean up his.... god knows what!
Night Blindness
'Ngoku' the African who lived in the house, was a wonderful man who had about 94 children, I commented to him once that perhaps he should get more televisions... he didn't understand what I meant?
...thankfully I never had to worry about finding him on the floor, passed out from topo much w@nking; however, the first night we all got together (he arrived minutes before I did, hence why he got a better bedroom than I (as mentioned in the below story about 'Shadow Boxing')
this particular night, we decided we'd go find a pub, have something to eat and get to know each other; as it happens, he was a non-drinker, and said he'd be the designated driver, which turned out to be worse than one of us driving p*ssed.
it soon came to light (for want of a better word) that Ngoku was a very, VERY bad driver, first of all he drove on the wrong side of the road, which I kind of understood as he was african, so pointing this out he laughed, and corrected me by saying he'd lived in England for a good few years... his constant swerving out from the gutter to avoid parked cars also kind of worried us (Kevin was quiet in the back seat, either bent down praying, or.... dare I say it, Masturbating again...)
turns out, once we got him, Ngoku explained that perhaps him driving in the dark wasn't such a good idea, as he had 'night blindness'???
Shadow Boxing
As I've said in earlier paragraphs, the bedrooms were dealt out in a hierarchical way, in that the longer you'd been in the house, the better bedroom you got (excluding Kevin's soiled room, that no-one wanted) and Ngoku, actually had the middle bedroom, which was really good, loads of sky-lights.
however, come bed-time, it sounded like he was moving all the furniture around, or decorating, and there were a couple of times, that myself and Kevin stood in the hall-way, looking at Ngoku's door, and noted the shadow's moving underneath it..?
Very strange, for one moment I actually considered if he was Shadow Boxing... and losing?
how could you lose at Shadow Boxing any-ways, but the noise, then sudden silence always did confuse us, until a couple of weeks later, when we could take no more, and we cornered him...
"Ngoku.... what on earth is it that you do in your room at night, it sounds like your moving the furniture around?"
"I am" was his reply, with a puzzled look..
"Why?"
"Because I need to pray, and I need to do it facing a certain direction... and the landlord said we wouldn't move anything around..."
Sid, the Serial Killer Squirrel
Still in Bristol, at the rented house, what I'd neglected to mention was that there was quite a bit of wild-life in and around where we were, and it turns out, we had a bit of a celebrity in the forest behind us, and that was "Sid.... the Serial Killer Squirrel"
It turns out, this "Squirrel" was a bit of a psychopath, and regularly would hide in the porch above the front door, and Drop onto door-knockers, I imagined him being like the "Rambo" of Squirrels, with a necklace of "Ears" from all his victims around his neck.
I only saw him once as it happens, and I must admit, his reputation did seem to have an element of truth.
It was a dark morning, I came downstairs, walked into the kitchen, switched on the lights, to that annoying BLINK-BLINK-BBBBBLINK-BLINK of the old-fashioned strip light to see him.... There, at the kitchen Window, literally with his arms spread wide, across the glass, glaring at me...
"JESUS CHRIST!" and then... he was gone!
Apologies, for nearly killing you!
Some time into the stay at this particular house in Bristol, Ngoku left us, turned out the Masters degree he had in computer engineering, he'd earned from the University of Kellogs, and he was invited to leave.
We got a replacement, an extremely 'geeky' Indian lad, I moved up the hierarchy, got the middle bedroom, and he got my old box room... Shitter! (for him anyway)
and as was the tradition, we went out to the local pub (turned out to be in the village of the damned as we got some strange looks on entering the pub, as I suspect it was a little like Emmerdale farm, and 3 'interlopers' invading)
now, at this time in my life, I discovered that I actually liked Beer (well Budweiser anyway, much I suppose like the trainer-bra of beers) and also CIGARS...
Holeeeeeee sh*t!!! I liked Cigars!!!!
so all that night, there we were drinking and smoking... well, me and Kevin anyways, it turned out that we'd again been assigned a non-drinker (and smoker) but not a complaint left his little mouth all night...
(Fast forward to the following morning, where neither myself or Kevin could remember what time or how we got home... or what the house across the road was doing with 3 "FOR SALE" signs in its front garden? we kept our eyes to the ground on leaving the house, much to the dismay of the local elderly population)
There I was in the kitchen for breakfast, Kevin arrived shortly afterwards, then we shouted to our new housemate.... and again.... and again....
hmmm..... up stairs we went, knocked.... knocked.... and knocked again...?
now... had it been Kevin, from past experience I knew not to walk into his room, for fear of treading in something nasty, but here, I felt no fear, opened the bedroom door, to find NO OCCUPANT?? his clothes were there, but no guest!?
looked outside and his car had gone too.... B@stard!
had we not explained the rota of car-sharing?
any-ways, off we set.. the two of us, and got to work... and he wasn't there either!?
WTF!?!?!
towards lunch, his line-manager collared me and asked where he was, we just didn't know?
later on that day, both myself and Kevin were asked into a meeting room as it was now known where he was....
I was 'sh*tting' myself... neither Kevin or myself could remember getting home...
Turns out, he was an asthmatic, and he'd had a severe attack in the night (or early hours) probably due to the amount of cigar and cigarette spoke he'd been exposed to in the "Woolpack" and not wanting to disturb us he'd gotten himself into his car to go to the hospital, he'd gotten lost, flagged down a passing motorist who'd called an ambulance, and he'd been taken to a hospital in Bristol!?
he never did come back, and we never got to apologise either...!
Mobile Phones don't Float
As I've said earlier in this Tale, basically working for this company, you were pimped out to various development teams, around the UK, and it fell on me to head off upto Glasgow to oversee the implementation of the Bespoke we'd been developing in Bristol.
I'd never been to Glasgow, and someone should have explained to this un-educated yokel that its "B@stard Cold" up there! especially in October/November.
within hours of my first day, I hot footed it out to the nearest store (thankfully I was in the centre) and bought myself a long, wool coat!
Anyway, getting back to the tale in hand, the building I was in was an old Converted bank, so massive and open plan, with no sub-floors... the reason I mention it was that 'any sound' whatsoever, echoed like you were in the 'Albert Hall'
At this time, I'd taken to wearing waist coats (I;d not been drinking beer long enough to develop my 'middle aged spread' so was still able to fasten them. The advantage of these was that you had a couple of extra pockets, and at this time I had one of those bloody stupid Nokia's that were too small to type on, never mind see... but they were cool, and could discreetly fit into the pocket on the waist-coat.
someway through the day, I needed to Piss... now what I haven't told you was (and my wife needs to skip this section) is that this particular 'friendly' building society, had a penchant for employing STUNNINGLY attractive women, they were everywhere, and the toilets, were kind of exposed as just a door off the main open plan void, so you couldn't exactly discreetly go into one for a long-Shit, cos.... they'd know that you'd been in there for ages... thankfully, All I needed was a Piss, and my pathetic Bladder Shyness (something you'll have to read in one of my other Blog stories) wouldn't be tooooo much of an issue, as long as it was a big toilet, with lots of cubicles...
In I went, and Thank God, MASSIVE.. and loads of cubicles!
I went in, did my business, and rather cockily (no doubt cos I was pleased I'd been able to piss within 40 feet of another human being) ZIPPED Up my fly, which unfortunately (as I did it at speed) knocked the mobile phone, up and out of my waist-coat pocket, where it spun, in slow motion, for a couple of nano-seconds, then did a nose-dive....
straight.... down.... into.... the.... toilet....
"OH CRAP!" I shouted...
There it was, air bubbles coming up.... my phone, drowned... and in PISS!
there's a moment in every persons life, where they have to stick there hand into a 'soiled' toilet.... you've all had to do it, and this was it for me... hmmmmm (Heavy Sigh)
in went the hand, Ninja style, quick grab, lots of dancing on the spot like a girl (I had Piss on my hands after all)
out of the cubicle I dashed, broke open all the parts of the phone, back, battery, sim, then loads and loads of tissue, dabbing.... wiping... "sniffing" wiping some more
now... what do I do, every angle I turn the phone at, something 'leaks' out... "GARGH!"
there it was, the hot-hand dryer..... that'll do nicely, so 5 minutes later, all parts dried, and re-assembled (like a sniper rifle!)
(c) SparkysDiary.com
"The Welsh Wanker"
So... as said above, I worked for a firm, which involved me being sort of pimped out to the highest bidder, on development projects in and around the UK, places such as Camberley, Glasgow and Bristol and it was whilst being sent to these far flung places, that I'd either be put up in Hotels, Guesthouses or Rented houses; Now more often than not, if it was a rented house, you would obviously be put up with a number of house-mates, and depending on the order you came into the house, that basically decided which room you got.... I was in last (by minutes) and as such, got the shittest room.
My other 2 housemates, were an African bloke "Ngoku" (see below stories about "Shadow Boxing" and "Night Blindness") and a Welsh lad (who'd been there for months) and for anonymity, lets call him, oh I dunno... "Kevin"
So... what was Kevin's story?
He actually was the closest living to the rented house as we were in Bristol, however, he stayed at the house at weekends, and as myself and Ngoku lived far far away, we would often drive home on friday evenings and not return until late sunday nights, or sometimes the Monday mornings, leaving Kevin to basically violate every room in the house with his habitual "Masterbating"
...and when I say 'habitual' I mean, non-stop! from the evidence that would quite often be on display when I would return back to the house, usually on a dark and stormy sunday night, and this I worked out because the guy was basically constantly asleep, thankfully I never walked in to find him passed out on the couch, cock-in-hand, but I'm sure that was because I made a big deal of revving my engine when I pulled onto the drive. I learned quite quickly that giving him that few minutes notice that I would be arriving would suffice him to remove all traces (something that a CSI 'ultraviolet Black Light' would reveal as an aftermath scene from a Porno or Charlie Sheen's Bedroom)
I regularly walked in to find the living room carpet, littered with balls of toilet tissue clumped up like a snowballs on a snowy christmas evening...
It was liking into a Minefield.... A "Jizz" Minefield!
...very 'cheap' Executive relief magazines spread across every part of the couch, and numerous 70's video magazines (you know the sort, with the good bits all blurry from being paused too many times!? No?!)
One particular morning, when we got up, I did my usual mother-hen, walking around knocking on the various bed-room doors, to make sure we were all up, as we rotated who drove to work (to save on our petrol, even though we were all claiming petrol expenses)
This particular morning, Kevin didn't answer?
I knocked again, and then returned after myself and Ngoku had been down to breakfast...
- Was he even in there?
- Had he gone out the night before, searching for Goats to Molest?
- Had he finally expelled too much of his bodily fluids and we were going to find him dead?
Oh for F*cks sake!
Kevin was passed out on his bed, THANKFULLY most of his quilt was across his loins, no doubt stuck there had he managed to stand up, and the scene from the living room had been re-played in his bedroom, I decided there and then, that 'should I?' ever manage to be the last one in this house when the new arrivals land, that I will NOT be promoting myself up the hierarchy into this bedroom, I'd have to fumigate it first!
I've blocked the Toilet, and err... Flooded the Bathroom
This tale, again involves Kevin, and I was still in the smallest of the rooms, and this particular morning it was Kevin who did the knocking, but with the knock came a whimper...
Oh Crap???
has he haemorraged himself or worse case, actually pulled it off?
I opened the door, taking care to look at him, "head height" (and you know I mean the 'upper' head don't you!?) to find him actually welling up, very teary eyed and looking like a puppy.
"Sh*t Kevin.... whats up?"
"I've Blocked the Toilet..... and its flooding the bathroom!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!?!?"
I ran into the bathroom, to find water basically spilling over the rim of the toilet, and making one of those dark 'balloon' patterns in the carpet, as the water basically spreads...
I dashed to the toilet ("Splish... Splosh!") to find what appeared to be about a bucket full of toilet paper, rammed into the bottom (I can only imagine what that was all in there for), grabbed the toilet brush, and began Prodding at the mass of tissue, in a vein attempt to push it around the U-bend, which it thankfully did...
but imagine my surprise, upon turning to find 'Ngoku' there, wondering what this crazy Englishman was doing...
"Wheres Kevin?" I asked
"...He's just driven off" was his reply
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTT!?!?!" (sounds like an echo that doesn't it?)
Yes.. .the Welsh W@nker had not only blocked up the Loo, but had p*ssed off to work as well, leaving us to clean up his.... god knows what!
Night Blindness
'Ngoku' the African who lived in the house, was a wonderful man who had about 94 children, I commented to him once that perhaps he should get more televisions... he didn't understand what I meant?
...thankfully I never had to worry about finding him on the floor, passed out from topo much w@nking; however, the first night we all got together (he arrived minutes before I did, hence why he got a better bedroom than I (as mentioned in the below story about 'Shadow Boxing')
this particular night, we decided we'd go find a pub, have something to eat and get to know each other; as it happens, he was a non-drinker, and said he'd be the designated driver, which turned out to be worse than one of us driving p*ssed.
it soon came to light (for want of a better word) that Ngoku was a very, VERY bad driver, first of all he drove on the wrong side of the road, which I kind of understood as he was african, so pointing this out he laughed, and corrected me by saying he'd lived in England for a good few years... his constant swerving out from the gutter to avoid parked cars also kind of worried us (Kevin was quiet in the back seat, either bent down praying, or.... dare I say it, Masturbating again...)
turns out, once we got him, Ngoku explained that perhaps him driving in the dark wasn't such a good idea, as he had 'night blindness'???
Shadow Boxing
As I've said in earlier paragraphs, the bedrooms were dealt out in a hierarchical way, in that the longer you'd been in the house, the better bedroom you got (excluding Kevin's soiled room, that no-one wanted) and Ngoku, actually had the middle bedroom, which was really good, loads of sky-lights.
however, come bed-time, it sounded like he was moving all the furniture around, or decorating, and there were a couple of times, that myself and Kevin stood in the hall-way, looking at Ngoku's door, and noted the shadow's moving underneath it..?
Very strange, for one moment I actually considered if he was Shadow Boxing... and losing?
how could you lose at Shadow Boxing any-ways, but the noise, then sudden silence always did confuse us, until a couple of weeks later, when we could take no more, and we cornered him...
"Ngoku.... what on earth is it that you do in your room at night, it sounds like your moving the furniture around?"
"I am" was his reply, with a puzzled look..
"Why?"
"Because I need to pray, and I need to do it facing a certain direction... and the landlord said we wouldn't move anything around..."
Sid, the Serial Killer Squirrel
Still in Bristol, at the rented house, what I'd neglected to mention was that there was quite a bit of wild-life in and around where we were, and it turns out, we had a bit of a celebrity in the forest behind us, and that was "Sid.... the Serial Killer Squirrel"
It turns out, this "Squirrel" was a bit of a psychopath, and regularly would hide in the porch above the front door, and Drop onto door-knockers, I imagined him being like the "Rambo" of Squirrels, with a necklace of "Ears" from all his victims around his neck.
It was a dark morning, I came downstairs, walked into the kitchen, switched on the lights, to that annoying BLINK-BLINK-BBBBBLINK-BLINK of the old-fashioned strip light to see him.... There, at the kitchen Window, literally with his arms spread wide, across the glass, glaring at me...
"JESUS CHRIST!" and then... he was gone!
Apologies, for nearly killing you!
Some time into the stay at this particular house in Bristol, Ngoku left us, turned out the Masters degree he had in computer engineering, he'd earned from the University of Kellogs, and he was invited to leave.
We got a replacement, an extremely 'geeky' Indian lad, I moved up the hierarchy, got the middle bedroom, and he got my old box room... Shitter! (for him anyway)
and as was the tradition, we went out to the local pub (turned out to be in the village of the damned as we got some strange looks on entering the pub, as I suspect it was a little like Emmerdale farm, and 3 'interlopers' invading)
now, at this time in my life, I discovered that I actually liked Beer (well Budweiser anyway, much I suppose like the trainer-bra of beers) and also CIGARS...
Holeeeeeee sh*t!!! I liked Cigars!!!!
so all that night, there we were drinking and smoking... well, me and Kevin anyways, it turned out that we'd again been assigned a non-drinker (and smoker) but not a complaint left his little mouth all night...
(Fast forward to the following morning, where neither myself or Kevin could remember what time or how we got home... or what the house across the road was doing with 3 "FOR SALE" signs in its front garden? we kept our eyes to the ground on leaving the house, much to the dismay of the local elderly population)
There I was in the kitchen for breakfast, Kevin arrived shortly afterwards, then we shouted to our new housemate.... and again.... and again....
hmmm..... up stairs we went, knocked.... knocked.... and knocked again...?
now... had it been Kevin, from past experience I knew not to walk into his room, for fear of treading in something nasty, but here, I felt no fear, opened the bedroom door, to find NO OCCUPANT?? his clothes were there, but no guest!?
looked outside and his car had gone too.... B@stard!
had we not explained the rota of car-sharing?
any-ways, off we set.. the two of us, and got to work... and he wasn't there either!?
WTF!?!?!
towards lunch, his line-manager collared me and asked where he was, we just didn't know?
later on that day, both myself and Kevin were asked into a meeting room as it was now known where he was....
I was 'sh*tting' myself... neither Kevin or myself could remember getting home...
- had we left him tied to a lamppost?
- had we sold him to passing Gypsy's?
- was he in the chest freezer in the garage (I did hope not, as that burst into flames earlier that week when I'd plugged it in... the sign on the freezer saying "out of order" should have given away that there was some reason it wasn't plugged in!)
Turns out, he was an asthmatic, and he'd had a severe attack in the night (or early hours) probably due to the amount of cigar and cigarette spoke he'd been exposed to in the "Woolpack" and not wanting to disturb us he'd gotten himself into his car to go to the hospital, he'd gotten lost, flagged down a passing motorist who'd called an ambulance, and he'd been taken to a hospital in Bristol!?
he never did come back, and we never got to apologise either...!
Mobile Phones don't Float
As I've said earlier in this Tale, basically working for this company, you were pimped out to various development teams, around the UK, and it fell on me to head off upto Glasgow to oversee the implementation of the Bespoke we'd been developing in Bristol.
I'd never been to Glasgow, and someone should have explained to this un-educated yokel that its "B@stard Cold" up there! especially in October/November.
within hours of my first day, I hot footed it out to the nearest store (thankfully I was in the centre) and bought myself a long, wool coat!
Anyway, getting back to the tale in hand, the building I was in was an old Converted bank, so massive and open plan, with no sub-floors... the reason I mention it was that 'any sound' whatsoever, echoed like you were in the 'Albert Hall'
At this time, I'd taken to wearing waist coats (I;d not been drinking beer long enough to develop my 'middle aged spread' so was still able to fasten them. The advantage of these was that you had a couple of extra pockets, and at this time I had one of those bloody stupid Nokia's that were too small to type on, never mind see... but they were cool, and could discreetly fit into the pocket on the waist-coat.
someway through the day, I needed to Piss... now what I haven't told you was (and my wife needs to skip this section) is that this particular 'friendly' building society, had a penchant for employing STUNNINGLY attractive women, they were everywhere, and the toilets, were kind of exposed as just a door off the main open plan void, so you couldn't exactly discreetly go into one for a long-Shit, cos.... they'd know that you'd been in there for ages... thankfully, All I needed was a Piss, and my pathetic Bladder Shyness (something you'll have to read in one of my other Blog stories) wouldn't be tooooo much of an issue, as long as it was a big toilet, with lots of cubicles...
In I went, and Thank God, MASSIVE.. and loads of cubicles!
I went in, did my business, and rather cockily (no doubt cos I was pleased I'd been able to piss within 40 feet of another human being) ZIPPED Up my fly, which unfortunately (as I did it at speed) knocked the mobile phone, up and out of my waist-coat pocket, where it spun, in slow motion, for a couple of nano-seconds, then did a nose-dive....
straight.... down.... into.... the.... toilet....
"KA...PLUNK!"
"OH CRAP!" I shouted...
There it was, air bubbles coming up.... my phone, drowned... and in PISS!there's a moment in every persons life, where they have to stick there hand into a 'soiled' toilet.... you've all had to do it, and this was it for me... hmmmmm (Heavy Sigh)
in went the hand, Ninja style, quick grab, lots of dancing on the spot like a girl (I had Piss on my hands after all)
out of the cubicle I dashed, broke open all the parts of the phone, back, battery, sim, then loads and loads of tissue, dabbing.... wiping... "sniffing" wiping some more
now... what do I do, every angle I turn the phone at, something 'leaks' out... "GARGH!"
there it was, the hot-hand dryer..... that'll do nicely, so 5 minutes later, all parts dried, and re-assembled (like a sniper rifle!)
I pressed the button, and "TWIP.. .BEEP.... BRRRR" off it went again... SHIT!
it was well knackered....
< heavy sigh again > and it dawned on me that perhaps I needed to give it some time, so lets go back to my desk and wait....
out into the 'void' I went to be faced with large groups of women all staring at me, it was like they were waiting for the 'Diet-Coke' delivery guy to arrive, but... .not!
on skulking back to my desk, I was informed that I'd been in the toilet some 20 minutes, and pretty much EVERY noise made, had been BOOMED out into the room, no doubt they all thought I'd had an accident in there and was cleaning myself up...
(c) SparkysDiary.com
Sunday, July 08, 2012
B@stard & Sh1thead - 4th. July 2012
(I know you've been waiting for this)
Pretty much a rerun of last weeks mauling by the 'Ginger Bastard'
Same couch, same stretched out sacrificial offering of my ankle; this time the little sod, jumped to avoid the other one, and rather cockily just dug one set of claws into my ankle, and then just SWUNG like Tarzan.. Or was it a Pendulum?
...fortunately, I only felt a couple of seconds of searing pain before Blacking Out!
B@stard & Sh1thead - 29th. June 2012
So.... this will be the first of many postings about the 2 little Kittens from Hell we've acquired, affectionately named "Bastard & Shithead"
Jesus Christ good god almighty!!
I'm laid out on the couch, swigging coke (that'll make me piss like a horse later) and chuffing on a bag of mini flapjacks that our wonderful neighbour dropped by, and "B@stard" (the ginger kitten) decided to launch itself off the floor into the couch, but using the skin in my foot as a ladder..
I nearly swallowed by bloody tongue!Publish Post
I'm laid out on the couch, swigging coke (that'll make me piss like a horse later) and chuffing on a bag of mini flapjacks that our wonderful neighbour dropped by, and "B@stard" (the ginger kitten) decided to launch itself off the floor into the couch, but using the skin in my foot as a ladder..
I nearly swallowed by bloody tongue!Publish Post
Toilet Incident 6th. July 2012
Can I not have a day off?!
Those of you who know me, will know that I occasionally have incidents of getting stuck in toilet cubicles; the most recent (before now) where I got locked in the outside toilet at the Robin hood museum in Sherwood forest, when the handle on the inside came off, and I had to wait until someone came in, to be assisted.. Turned out to be a little boy on that occasion, which was wrong on so many levels...
Anyways...
Here I am at that 'Sunny Travelly Place" in Preston (Customer Site)
On my way out to lunch, I decided I'd take a pee break, and entered the cubicle to suddenly come to a Complete Stop as I got myself wedged between the big, shiny, sticky out toilet roll dispenser and the inward opening door.
"hmm... what the Hell?"
I couldn't move forward or backward, my pockets had got caught on the door and I was stuck and flailing around like an eel on a riverbank as its being clubbed to death with a fluffy cushion!
So, calling on my Ex-Navy seal training, remembering how to cope if I ever got stuck in Quicksand, I resolved to Firstly getting back to being calm! (the squealing like a Telly Tubby wasn't doing me any favours with the occupants of the other cubicles)
I did a quick 'Sherlock Holmes' like scan of the cubicle, to assess the situation, and work out what would aid me in my escape; lots of mathematical equations started to flash into my view, and there it was...
I resorted to standing on one foot (ballerina like) flipping down the toilet seat with my shoe (which shall be incinerated later) standing on said toilet and lifting myself up (thankfully this cubical is on its own, as I have bladder shyness problems, something I'll write about some time) otherwise I'd no doubt have raised myself into the view of an indisposed toilet neighbour who's have no doubt screamed obscenities at me)
Voila... Houdini...
Just like in "The Great Escape", I legged it so as not to reveal my identity to the other fellow occupants!
Anyways...
Here I am at that 'Sunny Travelly Place" in Preston (Customer Site)
On my way out to lunch, I decided I'd take a pee break, and entered the cubicle to suddenly come to a Complete Stop as I got myself wedged between the big, shiny, sticky out toilet roll dispenser and the inward opening door.
"hmm... what the Hell?"
I couldn't move forward or backward, my pockets had got caught on the door and I was stuck and flailing around like an eel on a riverbank as its being clubbed to death with a fluffy cushion!
So, calling on my Ex-Navy seal training, remembering how to cope if I ever got stuck in Quicksand, I resolved to Firstly getting back to being calm! (the squealing like a Telly Tubby wasn't doing me any favours with the occupants of the other cubicles)
I did a quick 'Sherlock Holmes' like scan of the cubicle, to assess the situation, and work out what would aid me in my escape; lots of mathematical equations started to flash into my view, and there it was...
I resorted to standing on one foot (ballerina like) flipping down the toilet seat with my shoe (which shall be incinerated later) standing on said toilet and lifting myself up (thankfully this cubical is on its own, as I have bladder shyness problems, something I'll write about some time) otherwise I'd no doubt have raised myself into the view of an indisposed toilet neighbour who's have no doubt screamed obscenities at me)
Voila... Houdini...
Just like in "The Great Escape", I legged it so as not to reveal my identity to the other fellow occupants!
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