Posted in Old Man Rich, Food & Drink at Mon 11 Aug 2008 by Stavros
Amidst the gloom of a late summer evening, a conflict of glow-sticks occured on Saturday in Shrophsire. Fuelled by a mixture of wine, beer, barbequed meat and, in some cases, very potent chilli peppers, these warriors launched their luminous missiles across the garden at their foes. Who in turn returned fire. There was no respite to the show of force, and control of the disputed territory changed hands several times. Peace finally broke out when the kids got bored and the grown ups got knackered and run out of beer. There were no casualties.
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Posted in Bored musings at Tue 8 Jul 2008 by Stavros
It is.
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Posted in Crown, Beer, Bored musings at Thu 29 May 2008 by Stavros
And so it was Walt’s turn. I’d done my Tom Jones, and Gord was yet to do Nelly the Elephant. He chose to breakdance, and he needed help. So I volunteered to spin him on the pub floor. I twisted out of the way like a startled Toreador and my foot stayed anchored to ground, contorting my leg and it’s twiney innards. Snap, crackle and flmp! I joined Walt on the floor. Cue laughter at the drunken stocky wino. I milked the crowd. Then I tried to get up, and produced a grimmace that would shame Cherie Blair.
After Gord had packed his trunk and said goodbye to the circus I hobbled to the new improved toilet to check this aching appendage. As I bent over to show Kiki (steady now) someone entered the toilets, opening the door into my head. Clutz. “Happy bank holiday here’s a bandage for your poorly knee and ankle, in fact you better take two”. If I was a professional footballer I would be injured for the European Championships, not that would be a problem for a Briton of any hue I suppose.
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Posted in Food & Drink, Bored musings at Sat 22 Mar 2008 by Stavros
Yet another trip to the opticians. I only wanted some new contact lenses, yet I’ve already had more consultations than a hesitant pre-op. Apparently the dillying and accompanied dallying is due to my peepers having developed some extended blood capillaries meandering across my eyeballs like red buses through country roads. Sigh. So I’m still on trial. And I was strongly advised to buy new glasses too. I innocently ask how much that is likely to cost and I am answered with well rehearsed salesmen spiel, explaining how the frames cost from just £25 to £125. Then he sticks the knife in by telling me because my eyes are so goddamn crap I would obviously need ultra-thin lenses as their fancy pairs of Jasper Conrans and Red or Deads were not made for lenses the depth of a kiddie-fiddler’s courdoroy turn-ups.
The town is bustling with easter egg overdosed little ‘uns and their hollow faced parents. The pavements and shop fronts bleached with the weak sun. I convince myself to heal my bruised self-esteem and my growling stomach at the same time with tea and toast at the little café around the corner. An old fashioned but cosy eaterie where all the grey haired women know each other and talk in cooed tones to a borrowed toddler grandchild. I sat in the corner nursing myself with my book and buttery toast. I feel a bit better now. Especially when I can forget how I’m contorting my face to make my old glasses stay perched safely upon my nose. Sorry missus I’m not pulling faces I promise, it was a lovely cup of tea, thank you.
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Posted in Work, Food & Drink at Mon 17 Mar 2008 by Stavros
Is it possible to dislike pretty much everyone you work with? Or is this a Monday morning thing? Either way, it’s not making the day go quicker. Neither did the extended monthly team meeting featuring snaps from one of the manager’s holidays. Kill. Me. Now.
While watching the news last night I was reminded of something that reaffirmed my latent stupidity. I pre-empted the discovery that the glaciers are melting quicker than ever, in my kitchen last week. After a few cheeky vodkas with a choice of Coca-cola, tonic water, flat orangeade, or plain on the rocks. I left the kitchen and went to bed. Leaving said “rocks” on the worktop. Overnight. Suffice to say they weren’t there in the morning and eveything on the worktop was sitting in an inch of water (well, maybe not an inch, but much more than is normal). One of the objects that had been unexpectedly bathed was a book that had been described to me by a good friend as having a rather dry beginning. This book review is now completely accurate as the last 60 or 70 pages are decidedly soggy.
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