Area 136

There have to be some advantages to getting old.

Reaching middle age should not all be about divorces and hair loss (from head) and hair gain (from places you don’t want to know about) and joints saying:

“That’s it actually – I need a break or perhaps to be removed totally and replaced with something in a nice shiny shade of titanium”

It should mean freedom from certain physical problems that you had in your teens.

Like spots!

But a blocked pore is a blocked pore, and they will do what they will.

Ah, now you are thinking “hang on you daft old bugger, you should know at your age how to keep your skin clean and avoid such blockages.”

Well thanks for that but this spot is in a rather hard place to scrub on a daily basis.

It is just inside my bloody nose!

And it hurts.

And I can’t even revert to the old teenage spot remedy “Drawing a target on the bathroom mirror and giving it a good squeeze” because as I think I mentioned

IT IS UP MY NOSE!

Just inside my left nostril to be precise.

So anyway, did you all enjoy your lunch?

Two haggard looking American presidential aids sit in a bar nursing large drinks.

“Three goddamn hours we worked with him!”

“John, just let it go will you.”

“The man is an fucking idiot”

“JOHN! That is the president of the United States you are talking about! But….well.”

“Exactly! How hard is holding the flag of your nation up properly! Jeeezus aitch Christ!”

“John, we did our best. He at least now knows the stars go at the top; we have a 50/50 chance he will get it round the right way. Drink up buddy”

more cat pictures

Outside doing the Smokey lurkey thing and low and behold towards me on the pavement comes a cyclist. High tech bike and dorky helmet and total inability to see the nice paved road he should have been riding in – all the boxes ticked.

Just as he passed me he wend down the kerb edging one of the driveways into our buildings big car park and some part of his bike hit said kerb causing it to stop dead and pivot round the front wheel, throwing him forward towards the handlebars.

He was luckily stopped by his Gentlemans trouser vegetables connecting with the nice hard looking bolt assembly at the centre of said handlebars, and as the bike reared up the back part swung round and squashed his left thigh in a rather painful looking fashion.

He did his best to look casual as he staggered off the bike and wheeled it along away from the scene of his fall from “elegance”

But I was laughing like a drain inside.

Serves him right.

With a horrible and loud electronic squawking, the Monday morning fire alarm test reminds me that the weekend is officially over.

Just what my fuzzy head needed, not.

Welcome to Monday people.

Meh.