*Contains adult themes and material which some people may find offensive*
Date: Tuesday 19th November 2019
Location: Rotherham
Specifically: Public library
I am not starting today with your average post i.e moi writing in a spirit of good natured humour (though I have the perfect opportunity given that this guy opposite me in the local council comic book store (otherwise known as Rotherham Public Library) is making no effort to hide the fact that he is picking his nose, sucking on the same finger, seems to be staring at something revolting on his mobile and gawping at what I’m doing (no it is NOT the same as him, thanking you very much) I planned to get a coffee and a cake but I’ve gone of it now, at least until I can get Mr Peking nose out of my head - nosey little shit.
Oh hang on! Can’t resist this - another guy - slaphead, no bread, looks dead - sits down and obscures my view of picky nose man (mercifully) but I am fascinated (I know I know I’m being nosy and therefore a bloody hypocrite!). He is working on an application form of some description (probably for more brain cells to bring his total to 3) with all the intensity of a Yorkshireman trying to retrieve a £1 coin from the inside of an unexploded bomb. Unfortunately whatever level of professionalism he was hoping for is attenuated somewhat by his insistence on writing with the calligraphic equivalent of candy floss but which on closer inspection appears to be a biro with a pink feather attached.
Aye, well please yourselves, it made me laff.
Well extremely bloody hell, seeing these two gonks languishing in the library has put me in a different mood now. So I’ll leave what I was going to moan about for another day. It will keep.
Why am I in the local library? Because it’s bloody freezing in the moho that’s why? Can’t get the heating on because the water tank still needs topping up and the fuel indicator is practically on zero. I need to get myself on to a designated camp site and quick! .....
....... Which won’t be tonight as the one I’d planned on at Conisborough is only open until 1st November.
During my early steampunk days - which surprisingly began in 2016 - it occurred to me that my name was a bit crap for a SP. Problem was, I didn’t know where to get a better one? So I asked around - Could I just make one up e.g. Capt Pissmore-Quickly Major Lettinov-Steam or Sgt Bukshoht-Blaster? Or does it have to bestowed on you? Is there some sort of naming ceremony such as dancing around a steam engine, waving welders goggles and shouting.....
I am a SP,
This my rave,
Give me a name
That is better than Dave,
Something personal,
Something cool,
Not something that makes me,
A bloody fool.
I want something special,
Of which to be proud,
A name that makes me,
Stand out from the crowd,
A Monica
That all will rate,
But please don't call me
Master Bate!
I know better now but it is still fun to look back.
Quick nip into Rotherham town centre - need a few bits plus the excercise will do me good. First stop hairdressers - fucking hate them. Now as you know I’m not one to complain but Jesus H Christ servicing sheep with vibrators where do these woolly back wallies get their conversation!?
They have basically three questions...
”ave yer bin workin today?”
”yer gor anyfin planned for the weekend?”
”ave yer booked any ‘olidays this year?”
Now these questions might be tolerable were they asked with any kind of sincerity, but they aren’t. Unfortunately they are delivered in the lame monotone voice of a halfwit teenager who is too lazy to break the sentence down into a meaningful phrase and instead speaks each sentence as though it were one word.
Then there’s the question that always winds me up
” wot number d’yer ave it set on luv?”’
Now how in the world am I supposed to know this? And where did the question come from in the first place!? Far as I know hairdressers have used hair clippers for years and I don’t recall any of them asking me what setting it was supposed to be on. So why now? Different clippers maybe? Dunno
I recently told one hairdresser about to scuttle my scalp that I didn’t know what setting the clippers should be on. She was completely flummoxed - telling me I must have some idea, what was it last time? I said “youre the hairdresser aren’t you supposed to know!?” Big mistake - she was even more flummoxed - until I put her out of her misery and suddenly ‘remembered’ the setting.
Who knows? The mystery of hairdressing eh?
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