First Tour and General Nonsense - 4
by, 29-11-2008 at 15:53 (198 Views)
Right. I'm in a sodding McDonald's (probably my most hated of all the chain shops/restaurants in the world, ever) but it has a hot spot so here goes. Updates
Data log : Day 4
Made it to Scotland in fairly decent time. The rain falls mainly in the Lakes, as the saying goes, and mist, fog and low cloud were the order of the day. Wish I had two windscreen wipers that worked properly, instead of one with a persistent squeak. Sounded like a dead mouse being battered across the front of the car and set my teeth on edge.
Random fact of the day - this year, Vimto celebrates 100 years in production. Why oh WHY this is advert sable you may ask, or even , is there a point to this? Not really. I hate Vimto. Tastes and looks like beetroot sick (and I like beetroot…) Stupid signs. How am I supposed to concentrate on maintaining 50mph on a “Continual Attitude Management” part of a road in the borders between God’s own country and the Sassenach land with pointless signs proudly proclaiming the (longevity) of a crap soft drink? Thank fcuk for mini-Mercedes man making me look back at the road…ha ha he got flashed. Wanker. That big yellow thing DOES work, ya gimp nut.
Rant of the day has to go to middle lane drivers in Chelsea tractors and those eejits who truly believe that their Smart Sports Cars are “da bomb”. More than ever, I wish I had one of Jimmy Bond’s special weapons - you know the kind, the rocket launcher on the underside of the car? Except, as my Dad once said, I want it mounted on the front and just bazooka the bollocks out of the middle lane hoggers. Are they allergic to the inside lane? Does their road tax waive the necessity to be a decent driver? I think not. Can’t wait until their road tax hit’s the grand a year level - roll on 2010! (And yes, Mr Man, that WAS my middle finger I was holding up whilst yelling profanities at the top of my voice…)
Can anyone tell yet that I woke in the foulest of moods? Put that down to not being able to sleep and ending up talking utter crap in Arrse chat (when do I say anything worth while?) and finding sites that made a few people’s eyebrows raise, even for them. MDN - you can thank me for the linkies later…but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. I know how he thinks a “thank you” goes and I’d rather take the abuse…. Mind, t’was fun in the chatroom as usual - people coming out of the closet, and eyes being raised at some of the more choice items being posted via the magic of the interweb. Obvisouly, for those newer members of this site, don’t go in if you are remotely offended at anything…at all. Or do - it provides much merriment to those who are in there. Fortunately, I have the hide of an elephant (and appearance) so it’s not too bad. I still tread verrrry carefully though. (If you are of a more delicate persuasion, go into RP chat. Tis fun in there too and seems a bit quiet as of late.. )
So here I am in Jock land. Allegedly, somewhere I should be proud to be, being a “sweaty” and all that. However, the Land of the Frozen haggis - or more popularly known as Deep Fried Chocolate, heart-attack in a paper poke. * (*poke being a little paper packet, fashioned out of either newspaper or what would otherwise be transparent toilet paper, commonly found in schools and other cheap-o institutions) - really isn’t my scene, hence my escape a decade or so ago. It’s not a bad place all over, just where I happen to be, but to protect the innocent - and to prevent me from being lynched should some local happen across this site - it’ll remain nameless.
(HA! Like anyone around here would actually know what a forum is, let alone be able to find the ON button on a computer…)
Hospital visit went ok - as far as they can go - and a nurse gave me a sandwich, then told me off for not eating properly today. Yeah, you try eating anything whilst driving two drool-y pooches in the back seat, who were starved prior to the journey. I quite like not being slavered on (slavered - drooled upon for the non-Scottish amongst us) and it’s nice to have the occasional outfit that I can wear more than once without being scraped of dog-snot. (In Scotland 2 hours and here I am, back speaking Jockular)
I’m not a sadist, it’s good practice (helpful tip of the day) not to feed a dog or animal prior to an extended car journey, as it can cause bloat. Which can kill in less than an hour. Or worse: horrendous nervous stomach farts which could cause one to slam into the car in front , desperately trying to escape the noxious arrse gas emitted from aforementioned nervy-pooch. Ew. Besides, it hasn’t happened - yet - that I’ve had to scrape a dog turd from the back seat of my car, but there’s always a first time. They can’t say “I need to wee/crap” like a little kid can, so why run the risk? Though I am working on teaching them to cross their legs and hold it in “until the next stop”
I am, however, in a sparky happy mood now - which you may have gathered - for The Call came this evening! Oh happy happy CK! Mr CK is safely ensconced in some Middle Eastern camp, for the time being, and has had a hell of a journey. He arrived late on Monday night , after his departure at 4pm on Sunday afternoon, and was most disc huffed at the journey. A 10hr hold over at one airport, after having spent 3 hours stuck on a plane somewhere else, only to arrive after the following 2hr journey to be picked up in a helibob and transferred to where he’s supposed to be going. Then picked up in a helibob again to go back to the main base to do his handover. Hm. (He doesn’t like flying, and hates helicopters even more, but doesn’t mention this to me during the call. All 14 minutes and 23 seconds of it - Welfare card please note - I know how many minutes he has left this week and I will be demanding each millisecond of that or else) He sounds hail and hearty, says his job will be boring and made a joke! He made a funny : he said he’s going to go the gym.
This was over 2 hours ago and I’ve only just stopped laughing long enough now to start to type this up. Mr CK and gyms is almost as funny as Achmed the Terrorist…almost. If I only had a picture of his “gym kit” you’d understand…and I don’t think anyone would believe me if I described his cut off jogging trousers - also known as Ronhills - for which he takes a good piss=taking as apparently they are “not officer like”. - another plan for a parcel item: white stillettos for him to wear for the walk to the “gym”. Now THAT I would post online!
So you see? I wasn’t concerned, truly, and it was lovely to speak to him. We talked the usual nonsense with lots of “I love yous” and “I miss yous” and the like peppered within the conversation. I think the fact that I was rattling on about our stinky dogs and “you got to see this thing on YouTube” may sound irrelevant to most, but it’s how we chat. Why should it change when he’s away? Normality is good - and I know he could hear me smiling down the phone as we spoke , as I could him. Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep - I’m one very happy chick. Now if only I had internet in this house, I’d be set.
(Yes, I do have a glass of vino in hand ,before you ask, so I would , indeed , be set)
Our next door neighbour here in Jockistan is a total twat. Long story short - they were great friends with my parents since they moved in (over 30 years ago) and when my mum got ill in 1996, they totally ignored her for no reason. Totally inexcusable behaviour from a former “best friend”, although I don’t miss her horrendous, and now submitted into local legend, halitosis. She can kill at 10 paces, which The saving grace is that their garage sides on to the garden, and Boy Dog only ever pees on their garden. I hope it rots and crumbles, slowly, and falls on their car during the night. I would laugh. Boy Dog just jumped up and growled at neighbour’s fat husband (seriously - a dark-haired Fat Bahstard circa Austin Powers) and woofed at him in the dark. Good boy! Have a treat.
Hasta banana, folks.