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It’s me, only smugger!

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Just a brief entry to prove that I’m still alive. Let me see. It’s been far too long father since my last confession. What’s happened in the intervening time? In a word: Nothing. Nothing of serious humerous note at least.

Actually that’s not strictly true, but my memory remains as hazy as a rainy day in Norfolk.

Humourously, I had to have a lift back to Ripon from the village on sunday with a friend. She’s a bit loopy. Hell, she’s loopier than a coiled spring eating honey nut loops on a rollercoaster. Due to her rather outgoing and dippy personality, I had her pegged as a Formula One driver. Oh no. Not this one. The speed limit on the road is 60. People who are unfamiliar with the twining village roads probably do 50. She’s know this road for the best part of thirty years and so was quite capable of doing 25 mph all the way home! Except of course where she reached large puddles that stretched across the road, when she had to slow down to somewhere between 5 mph and backwards. It was actually physically painful. Then tonight I had a lift back into the village with my great aunt (who I believe is the person responsible for someone first coining the phrase ‘eccentric’.) In her case we did do 50 all the way. But in 1st gear. The poor car’s engine sounded like a swarm of hornets being slowly roasted.

And now here I am at the parents’ house, writing my diary to fill in some time while they get back from abroad. And while I write I am watched by my graduation photo. I have been informed on three seperate occasions that in said photo I look (a) smug (b) letcherous and (c) stoned. In my own always fair and balanced opinion, I look all three. And itchy. As a result of finally having passed my degree the hard way (through Open University while I toiled for the good of fat bastards who dine off gold plates and have midgets fight for their amusement and don’t realise that most working stiffs barely make enough to afford the pot to piss in… where am I? I got lost on a rant there. Ah yes. As a result, according to the literature they sent me I am now officially allowed to add to my name:

Moosehunter BA (Hons) Hum (Open)

The big problem with this is that you sound like a dickhead! Think I’ll stick with BA (Hons). I don’t really want to hum openly.

The demolition work at our office goes apace. Despite Moose T’s attempts to seduce every single builder that sets foot on the site, none of them have run smooching into the sunset with her, perhaps due to the fact that she won’t stop talking about ‘Darren’. If I haven’t mentioned that before it’s a story for another day. On Friday last I went into work in the morning and was convinced I was in some kind of sci-fi show. Mr Goboilyourhead was not there, nor was the Scatman (who are normally the first two in.) No sign of the builders (who seem to start work about 6 or 7. In fact: deserted. Now I used to always be the first in, so that’s not a problem. Went to the door and inserted key. Wouldn’t open. At this point I realised that was because it was already open. Hmmm. Unexpected. So I go in and the lights are on. I shout ‘hello’. No sound, just tumbleweeds blowing around the stairwell. I head upstairs and into the bit the builders are currently working on. ‘Hello?’ No answer. It was fully 10 minutes before another human being showed up. Who? Moose goddamn T. Anyway. Fingers are getting tired and can’t drink my whisky while typing so further update tomorrow.


(Listening to dark tranquility)


Written by SJAT

December 20, 2009 at 1:18 pm

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