As it was Wednesday I decided on popping out for a couple of pints after work. Selected the chain pub due to my regular no doubt being stowed off with cunty football fans. I'm growing a little tired of football really, and I certainly don't like it impinging on what should be a quiet Wednesday drink. For some reason they had the fucking air con on in this place, which was just hitting on the back of my neck, so I had to move seats. I don't feel the cold at all normally but air con at this time of year is just stupid. Unfortunately I moved to a table just behind the golf arcade game and gambler. There were a group of shaven headed morons on the golf game which seems to involve hitting a trackball embedded in the surface as hard as possible for a long shot. So each one of them has to do their stupidly OTT twat of the trackball. They had a girl with them so i assume each were trying to impress by sending a golf ball on a computer game further than the others. And they were playing it for fucking ages. I moved seat again to be further away form the golf machine and the football. Notice the smell of pipe in the air....gorgeous. look round until I see the older fella reading a book with a pint in the far corner with his pipe puffing away. Ahhh, the smell of a pipe....tremendous. If I wasn't in a chain pub filled with cunts that smell could have almost made me feel like I was sitting my a log fireside in a big chair with a cup of hot chocolate while watching some shit TV. Any time I am feeling stressed as I should just get someone to sit across the room and smoke a pipe and I'd be lovely and chilled. A girl walks in wearing a leather jacket, beret, puff ball skirt and glitter slippers. Quite an odd combo. They've finally changed some of the adverts above the urinals in the toilets. Two of the News of the World ones have gone, I feel obliged to urinate at a urinal that has the changed advert. It's adverts for Football Manager. 'Your mates think your girlfriend is Premier league, you know she is Sunday League. Think like a manager'. grrr, blokes, et etc. Fucking hate dross adverts like that. Not all men are incapable of viewing a woman as a person rather than some kind of commodity. all that laddish, machismo bullshit that advertisers love just makes me rather annoyed. Got my final pint, served by the pleasant girl who has stars tattooed on her tit. I still can't fathom why on earth you would want a bunch of stars (some outlines, others filled in) tattooed on the top of your tit. i can only guess if it culminates in some kind of explanation further down the tit. Went home and had a pizza, test driving my new chilli flakes purchased from the cash and carry. At first they don't seem too hot, and then it hits me, and by christ they are fucking nuclear. I was trying for some time to douse the raging inferno in my mouth to no avail, I just had to wait for it to subside.
Had a pleasant nights sleep but full of very vivid dreams. I remember one where i was playing snooker against a drunk ronnie o'sullivan and I fluffed a pot leading to him winning the game. i took exception to the fact the wall was really close and I had to angle my cue right the way up, and rather oddly, Epping, from the board, was there agreeing with me. Then Hazel Irvine goes in to back room to show ronnie a red card for being a drunk prick. Odd. Got up this morning and I've been a little blocked up on the poo front of late, despite all the silly amounts of fibre I've been eating. When I say blocked, for me that is only going about once a day. Chillis combined with Guinness unleashed a quite unholy mountain of shit this morning that felt very nice indeed to rid myself of.
Anyway, maybe more later...
image of the day the 'evil eye' galaxy
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80887795@N00/219853872/
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