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Time to kill…

What a Shit Week!

It’s only Tuesday. So far I have had to fish out a dead rat from behind my fridge. It had been dead for a while. It had obviously decided to steal a rather large chunky portion of butter (I found the remnants of that too). Which fell down the back of the fridge between the radiator and the back and he decided to follow it down, where he got wedged in obviously. The trouble was the fat bastard croaked it down there – Don’t know how long he had been down there for sufficed to say he was soft and adequately smelly.  What a big bugger too!  He would have made a hat to make Davy Crockett jealous albeit a bit of a fishy smelling one.  So, there I was with an old cricket stump and a screwdriver to try and prize him out – which I successfully did in the end with a pair of secateurs and brute force.

Bastard!  The cheek of him to first eat my butter and then die down the back of my fridge because he was too greedy to say “You know what…  If I go down there I ain’t getting out, so I think I’ll leave it”.

After that, today I had to go to the Job Centre – you all know how I feel about that, say no more!  Then go to my new dentist (my last one died) for a root canal treatment.  Now, if you haven’t had one of these – lucky you!  If you have you know what I am talking about.  So donning a pair of shades (at my dentist’s request) that made me look like a poor imitation of Ray Charles I spent 45 mins in the chair while she drilled, stuck things, sprayed things, drilled more things, poked things of what seemed to be interminable length into this tooth.  Finally, she put in a temporary filling and said “See you in two weeks”, with an unexplainable enthusiasm.

The anaesthetic is wearing off and I am pissed off!  Up the pub methinks…


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Sitting up now…

four and a half hours before my dreaded bi-weekly, insufferable probing from either the crazy Italian, “donta worry itsa getting betta” or some pimple faced twerp sat behind a desk with his footballers tie on, signing on day is upon me!  The day where I can show them up the good old Job Centre how many jobs I have applied for and how many people haven’t responded to me.  It has gotten me thinking.
You remember the guy in the Shawshank Redemption, Brooks I think he was called. Fifty odd years behind the door and then he gets let out.  He writes the guys back in the clink that he’s tired of being constantly afraid – and then hangs himself.  The safest or best place he knew was where most people dread going.

I spent a loooong time in university.  I have had a few sabbaticals in that time, jaunts off to a foreign country to work.  I have been in or in between courses in university for so long that the world outside of university does not feel real anymore.  Now that I haven’t ever got to go back to university or school or study, I am stuck in a prison of reality, lost, not knowing what I am doing…  Bummer!

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