Where has old Spunky been? Nobody asks.
Well....I've been busy. Work is very hectic at the moment, loads on added to the fact that I intend to take up a grievance against my ex boss. The man is a complete meff.
In addition to that I've been busy both of the last weekends.
The weekend before last a posse of 10 of us went up to see the mighty blues play a dreadful draw against Sheffield Utd. On the train up we had an excellent game of poker which left Per Kroldrup £40 up.
After the game (and a Nandos!) we went out on the town. Sheffield is quite pleasant for a beer to be honest, we tried out a few bars and finally settled on one that Babyface liked. Me and the man himself are dancing, I say dancing but I may be stretching the truth and the floor was so sticky I couldn't move me feet, when I get a text from the Thing aka Thumb and Eggman. "Gaybar, discuss".
Now. I know I've been out of the game a while but I just presumed tight T-shirts over bulging muscles was the way Sheffield lads looked these days. Per Kroldrup coming out of the bogs chatting chummily to some random should have alerted us too.
We decided to move on.
To a scream bar. toss.
Anyway, a few more beers at the hotel bar and I'm for bed. I'm having a lovely dream and Per Kroldrup and Lady Fingers come piling in. This triggers my morning poo function.
I have clench a bit whilst they brush teeth. And then watch in disbelief as Per gets in to bed with Lady Fingers (admittedly a girl, but she's one of the lads!) mind you, she has been there before. And with the Thing. And with the Cowboy. And most noteably with El Greco. Not the point though, bad etiquette!
So I pop for a poo. Only to have Per knocking on the door saying "What are you doing?" For the first 10 times I replied "having a poo". The last one I just shouted "Having a wank you fucker leave me alone". Which spookily he did and retired to sleep upside down.
Next morning we pop to the ubiquitous Irish pub for a sharpener and catch the train back. Almost recovered Per takes us for another £40.
Which brings me to facism in action. Picture the scene:
7 raucous scousers and one woolyback playing poker. Quiet student type behind us. He shows ticket.
Miss Bennett (the facist ticket inspector): This ticket is for the wrong train. You will have to buy another or get off at Derby.
Babyface: It's alright mate, we have a spare. You can have it.
Miss B: You cannot do that as it is against the law.
Spunky: But he is part of our group isn't he everyone
Group: Yes he is
Miss B: No he isn't because I just heard you offer him the ticket
Babyface: But he is part of our group now. I bought 9 tickets in my name, no one else here's name is on them. He now has a valid ticket
Miss B: Tickets are non transferable. I can call the Police
El Greco: But that is ridiculous, MISS BENNETT, thank you, what is the point of being like this when you are upsetting so many people?
Miss B stomps off only to come back later and asks to speak to student alone.
Justice was not done.
Miss B's boss will receive 8 letters of complaint this week.
Right I was gonna talk aboot this weekend and the joy of the night bus. But I'm too tired.
Night all.
Check this picture for a meat market in Walvis Bay, Namibia:
Subtle no?
It seriosuly pisses me off the way this stupid engine lobs extra paragraph gaps in for you when you add a picture. Fix it blogger you lamers.
