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Small difficulties

  Mon 21st August 2017

I was supposed to be going to a Modernist opera based on Hamlet yesterday, but Karen asked me if I fancied a drink, as she's lost her job, facing the same difficulty at work as I had at the pub -- being offered so few hours, and at such short notice, it wasn't viable. Perhaps unwisely, we decided to embark upon this venture at 12 noon. The opera would have been the cheaper night out.

The woman sitting at the next table said "I just had to come out for some fake tan and now I'm absolutely fucked [at midday]. I'm just killing it with more beer." We fell in with The Geordie Shopfitters, which gave me good practice in understanding my third langauage. Karen was on form and looking prettier with every pint.

There were a couple of small difficulties, literally. She nearly got into an argument with two former colleagues, and an ugly little roly-poly dwarf had to be dissuaded from having a go at her -- disguised jealousy that she was out with me and not him. Poor fucker, he should have a prossie on the social.

We shared reports this morning. Karen decorated her neighbour's doorstep. I too, had experienced some minor difficulties in returning home. My bike fell over by itself and then the pavement kept asking for a fight. I wanted to leave it, but it just wouldn't let go. A bottle of wine I was carrying got smashed when the wall I was leaning on suddenly moved, and one of my ribs might have suffered somewhat because it hurts when I laugh or cough.

Neither did my shirt didn't come off very well, I've got a gash under my jaw and the pillow looks like a baby has been murdered in the bed. It looks worse than it is. A bit of it is blood, but most of it is Syrah.

In other news, I was delighted to be asked into my neighbours' garden the other day, for a drink and something else. That's handy. Don't have to pretend.

2 comments

What’s this?! Are you getting falling-down drunk? Makes for an entertaining blog post but do be careful. How does one get out blood stains?

Mon 28th August 2017 @ 12:03 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

It was a splendid afternoon of ease, pleasure, and good conversation.

Soak it in hot water and soda crystals, then put it through a hot wash – usually works.

Mon 28th August 2017 @ 13:58 Reply to this comment


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There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
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I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
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Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
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