Because my Mum loves her garden more than me; she offered 10p per slug/snail I scoop up and save her garden from. I got 80.
So, I am on the bus journey home and this whale of a women comes on, at this point the bus is full apart from the seat next to me. She looks around as if to find another seat (this is because I was murderously glaring at her, people are not allowed to sit next to me on buses, they just aren’t), she then waddles up the walk-way and she doesn’t sit next to me, oh no, she sits on me. My poor leg was lost in-between the cheeks of her bum. And, to top it all off, I missed my stop because she couldn’t move her fucking arse out of the way quick enough, so I had to walk for an hour to get home. In the rain.
That, right there, is why I hate taking buses.
All I can hear are the distant cackles of the common drunkard, screaming about how he’s “gonn’ get some white a$$ 2nite”. I should probably close my window.
I am going to pretend I never received that message even though I read it (I’m just hoping that facebook doesn’t do that shit thing when it tells you whether someone has read your message, does it?). If I pretend the message was never there, then technically it does not exist anymore (this is what I do with all my problems).
My grandparents and this other woman Dorothy are at my house and it sounds like the Farmer’s Union is round, their Somerset accents are so strong.
Whenever we get a cold caller my Dad and I pretend to be of a different nationality so this one call centre thinks we have an Australian cousin called Brenda; an American uncle called Tyrone; a German great aunt called Michelle and a Chinese nephew called Alan.
For some reason I ended up in Hollister today and it was so dark I tripped up a step and fell right into a male shop assistant’s crotch.