Day 82: I Talk To The Animals

Cat: Miaow.
Me: Get out of my fucking way, you knobber.

Later.

Squirrels: Yak yak yak (squirrel noise)
Me: Shit OFF, you cunts.

Later:

Dog in the street: Woof! Woof! WOOF!
Me: Cock OFF, doghead.


My parents must be so glad they spent all that money on my education.

Day 82: I Am A Guest

Having burnt my fringe off by leaning over the stove last night, I have decided to say in bed today eating very small, slightly sour apples. It is obviously far too dangerous to go outside.

However, much excitement "over at" (I think that's what you say) the weblog of Hot Coffee Girl, who labours under the misapprehension that I am 'sexy' but otherwise seems fairly sensible, despite the fact that she calls me "a real tart" which is strange, for as regular readers will be aware, I have sworn off Gentleman Callers until I can look at myself naked in a full-length mirror without calling the emergency services.

Anyroad up, she wrote from the Americas asking for a "guest post", which I have done. Happily for all concerned, I can therefore lie fearfully in bed all day without worrying about writing my own blog.

Oh, and while you're at it, you should probably go and read Tired Dad. He's awfully good, if a little timid.

Day 81: I Go To North London

Day 81: I Go To Waterstone's

Try not to shop in Waterstone's, if you can help it. Every single little fucker that works there is doing an MA in something pointless and thinks that they are far, far too important to work in a shop.

Me: Hello. Have you got A Vicious Circle by Amanda Craig* in stock? I can't see it on the shelf.
Him: (Sighs, barely looks up) Sorry?
Me: A Vicious Circle by Amanda Craig. Have you got it?
Him: (Sighs) Is it on the shelf?
Me: No ... um, could you check to see that it's still in print?
Him: (Sighs, puts his book down, barely looks up) I suppose so.
Me: Thank you. That's very kind of you.

Time passes. A dog barks in the distance. Distant laughter is heard in the Popular Psychology section. I see nothing but books about how to dress, eat, get a man and keep him, 3-for-2 offers on books about single women getting their man, cards with cats on and a book about cake written by an actress. And the new Bill Bryson book in teetering piles up to the moon.

Him: Yeah, it's in print. Do you ... WANT it? (As if I am ordering Mein Kampf)
Me: No. Not anymore.

Ooh, get you, with your stupid MA, your scraggly facial hair and your 'I'm an intellectual' clothes. It takes a rare man to put me off buying shiny shiny books but you, my friend, have done it. And now I am going to drive back to Highgate and go to the weird shop on the corner that sells a disproportionate amount of Freud, books at a price that is as expensive as books can get, has no 3-for-2 offers and no 'staff recommendations' from over-educated fuckwits whose opinions I care nothing about. Then I will have a strange but pleasant small conversation with a woman with Hair who has a dog sleeping on her feet, and an unfeasibly tall man in glasses who likes Nancy Mitford.

* Buy it. It's good.

Day 81: I Buy Wine In Marks And Spencer

I am buying wine. The young man on the till picks up the bottle, looks at it, then looks at me.

Man on Till: Linda? (Waves bottle of wine at supervisor lady in glasses.)

She glances at me.

Linda: Yes, she's fine, love.
Me: (A slight thrill passes through me.) Were you just checking to see if I was over 21?
Linda: It's the young ones. They can't always tell, you see.
Me: What, that I'm over 21?
Him: I can't always tell, you see. I'm eighteen. You get past a certain point ...
Me: ... what, twenty?
Him: It's obvious now I look, though.
Linda: Yes love, you should look you know, you will be able to tell.
Me: Come on. You could at least PRETEND. For my sake.
Linda: I could, I suppose, but ...
Him: ...Cashback?