Which side of me will win?

It’s a monster. It is not a fish.

Ooh, I’m really quite full of chilli. How apt it is that I have elected to begin this blog about mundanity during a period when I will be eating the same thing every day for as long as I can stand it.

Um… never mind what happened just now though…

No, fuck you Word. ‘Mundanity’ is a word. And so is ‘mundaneness’ should I choose to use it, you dumb fuck! Fuck you, and fuck all of your Microsoft Office bitches!

Sorry about that. Stupid bullshit machine trying to tell me how to spell. Do they have spelling bees for adults? ‘Cos I fancy my chances.

Anyway, all these real-time flash-forwards, or whatever the fuck you want to call them, aren’t nearly mundane enough, and I shall endeavour henceforth… I swear I honestly just spelled ‘endeavour’ correctly first try. See?

I shall endeavour henceforth to begin at the beginning and end at the end. I can’t apologise enough.

So, this morning I woke up and I’m pretty sure I felt angry or maybe hurt that it was morning and I had to get up. Is this normal? I mean, I know most people don’t like getting woken up in the morning, but I really take it very personally and just… the first moments of every day of my life are charged with intense negative emotion, unless I get a lie-in and wake up naturally. Is it just me? Or does everybody get that? It doesn’t seem very healthy.

Anyway, I don’t remember much about the morning until I was on my way to work and I caught sight of Jon and Pete ahead of me at the Lansdowne roundabout. They were still some way ahead, but I knew I’d catch them before long. I have long legs and no patience for strolling so I walk fast. Pete looks like he’s walking fast because his beautiful cavalier hair bounces so energetically with each stride, but he’s quite slow really. Jon, by contrast, is going faster than he looks like he is, but is still quite slow compared to Impatient Giraffe Boy here.

As I descended along Old Christchurch Road, sure enough I drew close. Now, I’m never sure how to handle situations like this. I just don’t know how to catch up to people who don’t know I’m behind them without being a twat about it. I’m certainly not going to call out to them because that looks desperate, but then I just have to quietly catch up and, at some point, say something. But what can I say that isn’t twatty? I don’t know. There’s probably a perfectly simple answer, but I simply am not equipped with the necessary skills.

So I went up behind Pete and Jon, sniffed – at which point Pete turned around – and said, “God, you guys are slow.” Or some other bollocks like that.


(I don’t think they were talking about me)

We walked together as far as Boots, whereupon I ducked in to get a bottle of Irn Bru and a jammy flapjack. Jam is a breakfast food, right? I know Irn Bru isn’t, but that’s medicinal.

I just noticed I typoed ‘Pee’ instead of ‘Pete’ back there. I changed it though. It’s funny, but there’s no need to insult the man. He has enough trouble with his surname.

Anyway, then I went to work and work stuff happened. I wrote quite a lot of stuff and did e-mails and spoke to people on the phone. I didn’t play any videogames, so stop assuming I did.

On my way home from work, it only happened again, didn’t it? This time, at the bottom of Old Christchurch Road, I clocked Ash, Chris and Dave Cook ahead of me. Dave Cook requires his surname here to distinguish him from Dave, who you might remember from my last blog, or indeed from your life if, like me, you work with him. Chances are he doesn’t remember you either way.

This time, after this morning’s display of twatitude, I opted to say nothing and just sort of fall into formation as smoothly as possible, smiling non-threateningly lest they be startled. The smiling thing didn’t have the desired effect. They all seem really weirded out.


(I don’t think they were talking about me either)

Anyway, at the top of Old Christchurch Road, Chris and Dave Cook peeled off – which isn’t to say they got naked, although who’s to say they didn’t? – and I spent most of the rest of my walk home in the company of Ash. We talked about how poor we both are and about how we’re coping. Ash didn’t mention the ‘R’ word, for a change, although I could tell he was thinking about it.

I got home and half-watched the rest of Frankenfish while preparing a new batch of delicious vegetable chilli. Then I ate quite a lot of it while watching Louis Theroux on iPlayer. Those Phelpseses are pretty mental, but I won’t lie, I would probably fornicate filthily with one or two of them given half a chance.

Actually, that’s not true. I normally require much more than half a chance. I’m hopeless. It normally requires several whole chances before I finally take the hint.

Um… then I did this.


Filed under: My boring funny day, , , , , , , , , ,

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