Tuesday, May 08, 2012

bank holiday non-eventness amazingness

Dude, we had a bank holiday yesterday.

This is what couples do on a bank holiday weekend in England when they can't be fucked to do anything that involves an iota's worth of effort more, than say, lifting a Sainsbury's bag filled with biscuits:

The scenario in this godforsaken little country is the same. It's still greyer than the hair of a 90 year old, with spatterings of rain and gusts of really cold wind, licking away at my face, and now, my personality in general. As a result, had absolutely no intention of leaving our flat for the last three days.

If the weather doesn't play ball, I don't care. I'll strike. Works for the French so why the fuck shouldn't it work for me?

We did a good job of it too. Of lazing about for 72 hours, only leaving to buy more food and wine.

The Brit has just rewired and installed his new sound system (read: geeky audio stuff that I don't have any interest in, but sounds good now that I've heard what it can do), and I bought a ridiculous completely unauthorised biography on Kate Middleton.

We spent the weekend watching amusingly trite films like Nightmare on Elm Street, just to check to see if the surround sound was working. It was. The Brit and I had a heart attack when Freddie Kruger sprung in front of a teenager and lopped her head off with his scissor fingers, all which was heard in the speaker behind our heads.

So that was crap-your-pants fun.

In between movies that involved shit flying everywhere, I read a book about Kate Middleton.
(Very 2011, but was out of ideas and/or inspiration, and turns out her life is boring up until the point she met William anyway, so save yourself the trouble.)

Halfway through, mostly realised that the author wasn't using any citations, most of what he was saying was hearsay, and who the hell was he anyway? So after all of that effort, I'd estimate a guess that every page I was reading was a load of shit anyway.

We spent three days on the couch, eating and jumping out of our skin. Might've been a wasted weekend - but then was it? I got to spend it with someone whom I love and whose company I enjoy, eating, reading a pile of pure crap, and listening to stuff that burst out of speakers all around the room.

Oh! We did go to Liberty, that really fancy shop in Covent Garden and walked out with a scented candle and 'horny cow' massage oil.

No really, it's called Horny Cow.

Tomorrow I'm bracing myself. I have to renew my UK work permit. Which means, I'll be in amongst the effluent that is the home Office in Croydon. Since their computers have all decided to spaz out and create disorder and chaos, I envisage an entire day dedicated to begging, pleading and not making eye contact with chavs.

It turns out the Home Office is, in fact, like Home Affairs. Just that one is filled with chavs and is in Croydon, while the other is filled with assholes and is in Randburg.

Actually really scared.

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