The end of another day of rubbish.

Well thats' what happens when you accuse me of not blogging enough. This will make 8 or so posts, filled with the finest twaddle I could think up.

Don't expect such largess tomorrow, because I don't think I can spell it.

Or understand it.

or something.

Anyway, as my train sinks slowly in the east and comes up somewhere further east, I will try to get the next one and say farewell, harry verderchi (whoever he is) and see you all tomorrow.

If I'm lucky, the hangover will be a small one.

enjoy your evenings people.

Again.

You see, Jo is the one that takes Sarah to church on Sundays so Sarah can go to Sunday school. Thats fine, I fill her in with the pagan stuff if she asks just to balance the books.

Now Sarah is a good singer and has sung a number of songs in nativity plays in said church, even a couple of unacompanied solo parts. Everyone comes up after and says what a good voice she has and so on. The choir master did try to get her into the choir before she could read, which could have been a bit of a problem as I pointed out to him.

Well now the church has decided to get a band together to play on Sundays at the church, and guess who is on the choir masters hit list?

Yep.

"Oh Jo, Nick plays guitar, do you think he'd be interested in joining our band in church"

"Well, I'll ask him" Said Jo, Visions of flat out Marshalls pushing the elderly congregation against the back wall with the sound pressure levels.

I said no.

Yesterday Jo came back from the church commitee meeting with the news that they were wondering if I could sing? and would I like to yadda yadda yadda....

NO!

I mean, really. Me, Churches and music do NOT go together.

Have they not noticed I am not a "believer" yet!

Was it something along the lines of

"I know, if I use a picture of girl cut out of a magazine and leave the creases in the picture it will look more real, because even if people come to check out the profile when they get an invitation, they never check the blog itself. So after they see that and read my interests they wont bother to look and see the blog is just full of stuff about flogging houses and property to people. Yeah that'll work"

Oh well.

I do so love being invited by those "business" blogs.

You know that deeply wonderful feeling you get when you realise that even though half the day is gone you have hit all your targets and done the work of two people?

No, niether do I.

Early Autumn over here.

Every time I come back in from having a ciggie outside our office, my hands are numb from the cold!

On the other side of Old Street the sun is beating down in a blaze of light.

Huh!

There were blokes on the other side wandering around with their shirts off for christs sake and I am stood on this side with nipples like organ stops!

Mind you, these blokes looked like roofers or scaffolders - the sort of male that removes their t-shirts at the mearest hint of sun. I am sure you ladies know the chaps I am refering too.

So I'm getting frost bite and they are getting skin cancer.

And so the world turns.....

This was what I asked S&F, in the morning light of the afterwards which inevitably jumps on you after the night before. This "after" was also an "ago" being as it occured a long while hence.

I had skinned all the knuckles of my right hand. And it felt like I had sprained my thumb on my left hand.

“No, you did that when you fell off the wall”

“What wall?”

“Mr Wolfs front garden wall. You were laying on top of it while we were all outside of the party taking bets as to how many kicks it would take that bloke to get his Triumph motorbike started.”

“Oh yeah. I sort of remember that,” said I.

“We turned round and you had gone. You hit the pavement quite hard, hence the broken blood vessels in the side of your nose.”

“And the left thumb thing?”

“Ah, you were sat on a kitchen chair eating Mr Wolfs cats biscuit things. They were thinking they were going to get a feed and you reached under the chair to pick one up, and the chair skidded out from under you and you landed in a heap on the floor on your left hand”

“Ah. Wondered why my mouth tastes a bit funny this morning. So I didn’t hit anyone?”

“No, but you did threaten to bite the cab driver. Which did get us home rather quickly as it turns out”

“Why or how did I get so drunk?”

“That would probably be due to that drink thing you invented – the pint of everything”

“The wah?”

“You started with a pint of lager and drank a quarter of it, then topped it up with cider, drank a quarter of that, then filled it with whatever came next on the drinks table when ever you had drunk enough to squeeze something else in. It looked particularly horrible when you put the baileys in and the cream separated out on top.”

“Oh fuck. What’s for breakfast then!”

What can I say? I was young and stupid. That’s what the 80’s were for!

There I was in the Tesco Metro paying for my purchases, and the woman behind the counter was chatting to her mate behind the next till.

"Oh that Anita Roddick has died 'an all"

Now I don't have any bad feelings towards her, I think she did a fantastic thing by building body shop up and championing ethics in business and all that, but I heard someone say, in a voice deadpan voice exactly like mine -

"They're going to change the name to Dead Body shop now"

Sometimes I wish I had that little filter that just stops you saying the thing that would be the most tastless utterance, at the worst time.

Just as pure market research/scientific interest sort of thing and not just a cheap shot at flinging some smut about of course.

But.

In the metro today the stars for Aries go like such -

"Today's solar eclipse greatly incresases your ... appetite, shall we say, and I don't mean for food. Grab a partner and get a room, before you and your urges drive the rest of us bonkers"

Now.

I have been out with a few Aries females and they were never very, erm "backward at coming forward" as it were at any time of the year.

So, totally in the interests of science, how are you Aries types feeling today eh?

Yesterday I mentioned that my line mangager is out all week and work was a little thin on the ground here at casa del wage-slaves.

And someone accused me of not writing enough and wondered what I was doing with myself.

WELL! How very dare you! To borrow a phrase from that woman that is soon to probably ruin Dr Who for all of us.

So today, and it's all their fault so don't go moaning at me, I will spew forth all sorts of absolute tripe as often as I can.

But what will I write about? how will I generate enough wordage to even justify dragging my sorry arse to the blog face?

Well I seem to be doing OK so far.

And now, coffee and a ciggie.

A bloggers work is never started, as they say.