Battered kids in wheelchairs and my calling as a fish van man.

That’s the parents back from their cruise, they seemed to have a lovely time, which I was glad to hear about. My mum in particular has fallen in love with Rome, this being the second time she’d been. I picked them up from the airport, knowing almost as soon as I’d parked the car that karma was going to get me back for always being late by making me wait for ages because I was on time for once. And so I did, after more than an hour they’d finally managed to get all the baggage off and collected. Ever noticed that when people are on coach trips all the luggage is off the bus and into the owner’s hands within five minutes? They should do that for flights as well, just let people down onto the tarmac, grab their gear and head into the airport, it’d save a fuckton of hassle. When they eventually did get out, a bit more tanned and full of cheer and good food, I got told the most important details of the trip first. Not how nice the cruise was, or seeing Pompei, or the dinners, or the general awesomeness of Silvio’s big brothel… nah, I got the tale of the misbehaving little boy in the wheelchair, whose mother finally had enough and leathered the child, who promptly started crying. My dad was rolling about laughing at retelling it. Now I know where I got my habit for naming all the disabled people at college from. I still miss you, Grawp.

Before they had left I’d asked my mum if she wanted anything done for them coming back, they’d just be back from a week of drinking and sightseeing AND NOTHING ELSE and I didn’t think they’d want to go out for dinner again, she said just a nice lunch from Greggs the bakers would do fine. So before I left the house I handed Thickness a £20 note and told him to spend no more than a tenner, buy a few nice rolls (the kind freshly made with chicken and salad and all that good shit), maybe some hot stuff as well in case they fancied it, and yum yums if he had anything spare. He came back after spending more than a tenner alone on fucking steakbakes, sausage rolls, half a dozen plain rolls, and two toblerones. He fucked up to a degree that went beyond my ability to be pissed off at, so I burst out laughing instead. One day he might build bridges or design skyscrapers, but he’ll always be a dozy bastard. I told him that seen as he’d bought it anyway, he might as well break the toblerones into individual pieces and make them look fancy on the plate. He didn’t pick up on the sarcasm, so we came back to find a plate of them looking like an advert for Ferrero Rocher directed by Uwe Boll. Give him his dues, it was a nice wee lunch though. They’re away again to stay at a hotel as today is their actual anniversary, back tomorrow. Alright for some eh?

Aside from taxiing back and forth from the airport and abusing Thickness for deciding that mutton chops were a good idea for his first foray into facial hair, it’s been the same old stuff.  Mostly going to the work programme where I was told about the importance of being on time to a work interview, and somehow spending twenty minutes informing me of exactly jack shit and making absolutely, positively certain that I wouldn’t mind applying for a job in a call centre. Jesus suffering fuck spare me all this shit and just email me job openings with a name and number then gimme some peace. It’s gotten to the point where I sat with Hans today plotting ways we could earn the most amount of money with the least amount of effort. Aside from using her as a kind of bargaining chip if I get an interview (like a free clock with your life insurance!) the front-runners are currently going into business as a stripper and driver, or running a fish van together. Not entirely sure how we ended up deciding on the latter, but there’s no doubt a Freudian element to it. Hooring it out is a possibility, there’s probably fetishes I’ve never heard of that I’m walking around as without even knowing it…

That little “Don’t Consume” brain fart I had a few days ago? Going rather well. Upped and deleted a whole raft of films and TV shows that I was either never going to watch or would have had to make time in a busy schedule of watching everything else to make time for. Though then downloaded a load of music as I’ve been crying out for something other than the same old five albums on repeat. Not one to do anything by half, I’ve got a 2000 new tracks after that little binge. Replacing one thing with another? I don’t think so, it’s more of a passive thing, you’ll not often find me sitting just listening to music. I’ve decided to try my hand at NaNoWriMo this year too. Basically it’s spending November writing a 50,000 word book, and more about quantity than quality, the emphasis being more on doing it in the first place than doing it well. It works out at writing 1,666 words a day for 30 days. Considering I’m already more than halfway to that with this one blog post, I’d say that it shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. I’ve got an idea of what to write, but I’m not saying, in the off-chance that one of you robbing cunts makes a book first based on it. What I will say though is this: it’s the usual mix of immature and very grim serious. Like Apartheid with zombies.