Crueller Still........

Oh my brothers, they have forced me out on to the streets once more. To a place called Work. Me, with my nerves, having to go there. With my nervous disposition and everything. I have a condition, you see. Husband got it diagnosed for me: its called work-shie - I think its Latin. More commonly, the last word is pronounced Shy.

I begged Husband to go and get some sort of herbal cure while I lay down. And also begged him to phone in sick for me. He returned from the Pharmacist empty-handed. He told me the nice young man advised a verbal cure. I looked at him weakly with non-comprehension. Husband recited the ancient mantra passed over to him from many generations: Get off your big arse and get to work like everybody else, you lazy cow. The insensitivity of it, o brothers, thats what I find hard to live with.

In the stockroom at the sports shop, unloading stuff with some 17 year old boy. Worried about a girl he's seeing. Thinks they might "do it". Scared about his nether regions. Frightened he's too small. I told him every boy thinks that because they saw their Dad's one when they were little. They grow up thinking their's is smaller than their Dad's and inadequate. I mean everyone know's that shit.

He begged me to look at it and give my opinion. He felt he could trust me, he said. So we locked the door and he presented himself to me. He was bloody enormous! The silly bugger. He was huge! These bloody blokes. Put it away I told him. That would satisfy any bloody girl!

Then he had the cheek to scrounge a lighter off me! Haven't I transformed his life enough? Bloody hell! Still, all in a day's work. Back to the stockroom tomorrow - new England shirts arriving. What a load of old shit!

Being Silly

Well, at last, O my brothers, I'm on my oddy-knocky. But not for long, so I'm getting this in quickly.

Call up some woman who I was good friends with at one point: Bring yourselves and the kids for lunch, I say cheerfully, its been ages since we've got together. Come and see the new house. Well, she falters, Georgina's got horse rangers and George has got some shit or other (this is paraphrasing), perhaps its better if I just pop round in the week.

Call up sister in law - come to lunch and bring the kids and see the house. Well, SHE falters, we've got weight boarding and rugby and..... Me and Paul can pop round for a couple of hours on Friday night.

Invite a mate for Son to go with him to Thorpe Park on his birthday next month. Well, the mother falters, he was sick last time and he hates this ride and that ride.... can he come and not go on any rides????

I won't even repeat my reply to that one.

What is it with these bastards? Why do they have to get silly about bloody everything? Bollocks to it - am having a bloody lunch on my own! Because I don't piss about like people round here! Does anyone wanna come for lunch on Sunday? Please? If you do, let me know if you're vegetarian or not and you can have a courgette or something.

Coming out of the Cold

Oh my Brothers, a nice young man from Virgin called round yesterday to "see me right" - ooer!

A black man, tall and slim. Spoke, and had the same bawdy laugh, like Bob Grant in On The Buses. I half-expected him to have a fag behind his ear. He left me with a square box with Broadband written on it.

Husband went up the wall. Did I not tell him to install it? he demanded somewhat rhetorically. I shrugged. Give it to the Kids to set up, I suggested. Isn't that what we normally do? He went a funny colour. I went outside for a fag.

I have no sympathy. He knows I know nothing about this kind of shit. Even to leave me in the same room as someone technical is a disaster. Don't know what his bloody problem is. We've got thricefold the crap programmes on TV now, haven't we? We've got a landline, haven't we? We've got internet, haven't we? Why should he get het up over a bloody square box?

This bloody technology shit. Two hours in and it causes aggrevation. I wind up my clock and sit down to write a letter like in olden times.