A Diary in 53 Parts: Part 9: Week 8

In which I touched the wrong footballers brogues and live tweeted an epic train journey.

Sunday 19th February.

Sundays are, I have found, are an “either or” day, i either have a hangover and go the messages or i dont have a hangover and go the messages.

However also tonight i managed to hoover under our bed and behind it for the first time since we moved in. Its a big solid bed which takes a few folk to move it so its not laziness and jakeyness that prevented us doing it before now is a precursor i want to add before getting to the why it came to it we managed to get the hoover in about it.

See, it only became possible following Natalie and I breaking it and prett mych falling right through it in the morning which led to me getting the drill out to put it all back together. On a positive note it was a perfectly executed sidewalk slam that done the damage, on a negative note absolutely nothing in this paragraph is a euphamism.

Shat my pants when it fell through though, managed to shear two of the screws that held the bar (that holds up the slats) onto the side frame of bed. A wee lend of a power tool and replacing the three screws of before with 7 new ones in new places has seen what i would describe as an improvement to the support system intiated by whoever manufactured the bed. Wrestling can resume.

Again, no euphamisms.

We watch dancing on ice, which is another sunday ritual now, before going to bed where i see that the Homeland pilot is on Channel 4 +1. Risking regretting watching it in the morning when my alarm goes off (it finishes after 11, a major no no these days) I give it to the first break to see if it grabs me. It most certainly does, most tv shows and films which in the background of some scenes have a cork board with peoples pictures on it in a pyramid formation with their names underneath and their relationships with each other pointed out with either marker lines or lengths of string usually do, and i watch all the way to the end. I am suitably intrigued to watch it all now, looks a good show.

Monday 20th.

Applied for a job today.

Tuesday 21st.

Today is pancake Tuesday! Yaaaaaasssss! We make some after dinner, for my mind the flipping of them far outweighs eating them as after one i wasnt that bothered eating anymore. I did however as if i didnt i wouldnt be able to do any more flipping and from my first shot it was clear i was a natural. Had chocolate spread and banana on them which was lovely. Listened to Killie getting gubbed at Tanadice on the radio in the kitchen while all this was going on as Natalie watched the brits in living room, she shouted me through to see Blur, I thought they were alright but judging by my facebook homepage they were shite.

Wednesday 22nd.

Held in my hand the brogues of the Manchester City team. Either they have been bought from my work or ordered from the supplier and we are just middle men, regardless, they were in my work and as such i held one in my hand. From a squad boasting many stars from all around the world, Ballotelli’s were there, David Silvas, Diego Maradonnas sone in law Sergio Aguero’s were there, the whole lot to pick from to inspect. I chose Nigel de Jong. I dont know why and it annoys me i did, why him, he hardly gets a game. When Sky show them stepping off the bus with their big ridiculous headphones on and their wee Loius Vuitton toiletry bags complimenting their club suits i will look down at those shoes and saw, i touched those. Then it will dawn on me i only touched De Jongs and i will wait patiently for him to climb off the coach and i will have to accept that he is watching it on tv like me as he hasnt been selected. Then i will seeth with rage that i declined caressing Yaya Toures big size 11s. They had their initials nailed into the soles of the boots i should add and were very very smart. Might get a pair myself though finding the guts of 400 quid should put paid to that idea. Nigel de Jong, i could kick myself.

Thursday 23rd.

Wrote a quiz today for entertainment purposes at the weekend, thats what us married couples do i suppose. Due to the fact i cant win i have decided to make the quiz as hard as possible, questions about the career of MC Hammer and whole rounds on the history of Australian soap Neighbours should see my cunning plan come off.

Friday 24th.

Natalie took a wee trip to B&M this week and as such we have a whole slew of weird and wonderful things in our cupboard for eating. For lunch at work i took a christmas dinner flavoured Pot Noodle. Supposed to taste like turkey with all the trimmings, tatties, brussell sprouts, etc, the whole hog (though not actual hog, which would make a good pot noodle, letter to both major noodle companies will be sent out i think, Hog Roast flavour, it would be a ratings winner, maybe with an ad campaign with a talking pig turning on a spike) and even had a wee sachet of cranberry sauce. Fact of the matter is, it did taste like all that stuff, just not sure if thats necessarily a good thing. I have another one to eat at some point, might put it off till im desperate.

After work i showered and shaved and did my hair (confession time: i dug out the straighteners too as its getting a bit long, i have no shame in this act) because we were going up to Glasgow for our dinner. Madras Palace i think it was called, up at Charing Cross area. It was an indian buffet and it was very nice. Kingfisher lager too was cracking. The owner, or manager fella approached us toward the end of our meal and tapped me on the shoulder and said “bet he doesnt know this” and asked my friend Gareth who scored the quickest goal in world cup history. You dont get asked that too often in restuarants and even less by strangers. Think i liked it. He said Brian Robson in 82, i argued the point, he dismissed me and went on to tell us that he is a season ticket holder at Celtic Park and fancies Holland for the Euro’s in June. We also got his tip for the Derby. While he did this i googled the quickest goal in World Cup history as i had a video about major football championships we got from saving vouchers on smiths crisps way back in 1989 which was presented by Brian robson in an awful shirt, and even so long ago i still recall him saying he never scored the quickest goal and showed footage of some black and white  game where a goal in 15 seconds was scored, google couldnt give me that answer but it did tell me that Hakan Suker scored the fastes goal in WC history in 2002 in 11 seconds. never had the heart to tell the owner/manager fellow though.

After a post dinner drink we got on our train home on which Natalie fell asleep while i live tweeted the journey. I did this because the usual 45 minute journey home actually took 90 minutes and as such was a bit of a nightmare. heres a selection of what i wrote.

00:12 train stil in station. Full o sleverin wallopers.

Were on the move.

Lost count o the folk who see or hear cool stuff on train in twitter reading. So far iv seen or heard fuck aw. #myth #cunts

Why does the killie to glasgow train stop at a gazzilion stops now? Whats wrong wi ggow, barrhead, dunlop etc. Fuck.

Now its ggow, a huner shanty towns, barrhead, dunlop then familiar ayrshire. #noton

Been stopped at pollokshaws west for longer than could ever b described as necessary. Nxt stop kennishead. Half an hr n no out glesga. #fuck

Nitshill city limits. Songsthatwouldbesongsifiwasinhellandhellwastheglesgatokillietrain

Never hashtagged that last tweet. Two chances o it trendin now…….

Barrhead has been breached. Ayrshire awaits.

Guy in seat behind us hasnt spewed his ring on us. Had horrible feelin it was possible when we sat down.

Kilmaurs is in our wake. Next tweet probably from my bed. Or from mif saturday morning.

Home n in mine scratcher more than 90 minutes after leavin glasgow. Good job #scotrail.

Saturday 25th.

Got up in the morning and set about the important task of fixing my fantasy football team for the weekend. Looking back to my transfers made a few weeks ago i must have had a small spell of insanity as i go into this weekend with a QPR defender and Jelavic up front along with many other crazy decisons all over the pitch. time to try and rectify this mess. Aguero goes in because i looked at his shoes (never touched them, what an idiot i am, Nigel de fucking Jong) and a few other wee tweaks. fingers crossed. In 6 seasons playing this game my sole success is the naming of our mini league, Bummersliga. Still makes me laugh.

Went and watched Killie be utter shite and gutless and weak and shite and lazy and shite before stomping up the road in a huff. Natalie was in next door when i got home so i went in also and managed to keep a lid on my rage, they have young kids. Exploded with a raft of sweary words when we finally got in our own front door. Felt better, had to cancel quiz due to lack of numbers so my mega hard quiz has gone in the file for use at a later date and Scott and Michelle came round and we had a wee pairty the four of us.


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