I was out with Katie and a few assorted others last night and the obvious happened which was, after several drinks in the pub, we didn't want to go home, so went over to the leisure park to go to Chicago's. A good idea, you might think. Unfortunately half of us got there just before midnight and the other half just after. They stop letting people in after 12.00. BIG JOY.

I believe, that after politely trying to persuade the bouncers to let the rest of our party in and one of them refusing profusely, I said, 'So you're a bit of a jobsworth, eh?' which didn't go down too well, nor did the few choice swearwords I picked to call him, though they CERTAINLY were said with reason after one of them kicked Katie's brother Joey about and stamped on his foot, causing his big toenail to flip open akin to a toilet seat.

It wasn't pretty.

I talked to the New Bloke on the phone when I got in and used him as the outlet for my anger, the metaphorical punchbag. I don't know what's wrong with me but I feel like my mouth's Road Runner, zooming ahead, and my brain's Wile E. Coyote, trying to catch up but never, ultimately, succeeding.

previous | next