Briefs Encounter

Ok Ok enough is enough. This heat is getting on my flippin' tits now.

I love a bit of sunshine when I'm on holiday or chilling on the decking of a weekend but equatorial conditions are not conducive to pleasant working conditions.

I'm refusing to go into the office right now due to the lack of decent air-con. Went in to do my expenses the other day and had to walk home with a wet arse. I was wearing khaki combats so it looked like I'd forgotten to put on my Tenna's much to the amusement of the kids playing footie in the park. This black kid with a half afro and Crystal Palace top on shouted over 'Hey Mr. You need your nappy changing' I pretended I didn't hear. My mobile rang. I dived into my backpack to fetch it and collided with the dog shit bin!

The other day I had no choice but to travel up to Liverpool for work. Just my luck. Turned out to be the hottest day of the year.

The trip up was OK. Quiet train with great air-con. Managed to catch up on some Iain Lee podcasts. The meetings went well. We had desk fans and shared a can of Magicool. I'm convinced that stuff is evil. Sure it cools you down but what must it be doing to your skin and the ozone layer???

Any road up. I jumps in a taxi to the station and was treated to the Scouse remix of You To Me Are Everything by a very jolly and very flushed driver. Ginger people don't look great in the heat. Poor souls.

Again the train was quiet and dead cool. This time there was the added bonus of 2 latino chicos sitting across the aisle with shorts on. Jeez they were fit and spunky. I put my shades on and pretended to be asleep and spent the best part of an hour imagining what I would do with them in a jacuzzi! Unfortunately they got off at Nuneaton. I guess you could say they got off before I got off!

Journey was going well and on time until we approached Watford. Stopped dead and sat for just enough time to witness my connecting train departing as we pulled in. I wasn't even angry. Next train was in half an hour. I'll just get a drink and read a bit more of HEAT.

After clambering across to the correct platform I was already pouring buckets of sweat. There was a wind getting up so it felt like a Sahara sand storm now.......without the sand, obviously. The poor girl in the kiosk looked like the fat person in the gym. You know the look. Red face, cheeks pulsating, blowing and puffing continuously in a baggy t-shirt and cycling shorts. She had no water left so I ordered an Americano. I was fiddling around with the sugar cubes at the counter and I don't know how it happened but as I tore open the paper cover the cubes leapt in the air. For some reason I tried to catch them and hit the kiosk girl's arm as she passed the coffee to me. The coffee went everywhere. Soaking her t-shirt and a tray of flapjacks. I was mortified. She looked like she was going to cry.

It was my turn to cry now. Next train was cancelled due to defective rolling stock. I'd have to wait another hour for a connection.

It was getting hotter and hotter. I felt faint and needed a sit down. I dragged me and my trolley over to the lift and sat down on this ledge thing that went around the building. It was like sitting on molten lava. I think I smelled pork crackling as I leapt to my feet clutching my buttocks. 4 girls on the opposite platform were sniggering behind their Volvics.

Now I needed a pee so scuttled off to the lift with my trolley and crossed to the platform with the loos.

In the gents I was confronted by a bloke in a dirty suit with hair like Brian May, washing his feet in the basin. Well I say washing but he had this thing that looked like a giant cocktail stick and was picking away at his toes in the process. He mumbled something with a foreign twang and I just gave him a slight smile. After my wee I got some Wet Wipes out of my trolley and gave myself a good freshen up before nodding to foreign foot fellow and heading back to the platform.

I gets in the lift and before the doors shut, they open again and I'm confronted by this rather round black lady pushing a trolley with what looks like enough luggage for the whole of Ethiopia. I press the doors open button as she maneuvers her load into the lift. She's speaking to me very loudly in her native tongue and I'm just smiling and sweating. Eventually she gets in. It was like watching a drunk parking an HGV. When the doors open she gives her load a shove and knocks my little trolley out on to the platform. It's at that moment I realise I didn't zip it up properly when I got the Wet Wipes and the contents of my case is now blowing around platform 9.

The African Queen is stuck in the lift as I'm scrambling around on all fours collecting my bits and stuffing them back in the case. I'm so hot and stressed now that my shirt is sticking to me and my pants feel like I actually hadn't made it to the toilet.

I've gathered my bits and my train pulls in. I flop onto the train and collapse in a heap. As we pull out of the station I glance over and see a pair of my Abercrombie & Fitch briefs hanging from one of the African Queen's suitcases!!!!

Pampered Pooch & Pushing the Punto

Looking at that picture you would think that my dog was a sweet little thing. My arse!

She's next to me now and delighting me with silent farts that smell like Irish Stew that's been left in a pot for a couple of weeks during a particularly hot spell. It's her way of attracting my attention since she's forgotten how to bark now she's expecting a telegram from the Queen. 105 in dog years is not bad going for a West Highland Terror from a grubby pet shop in Epsom.

Becuse she's nearly blind, tone deaf and troubled with arthritis I decided to treat her to a home haircut instead of sending her off in the Dog Pound van to the Pooch Parlour. She looked dead scared the last time so I felt really guilty and made a promise to her not to send her there again. I found this great Mobile Dog Groomer on the internet and booked her an appointment.

The big day arrived. I think she knew something was up cos I brushed her 3 times that morning so she looked a bit decent for when he arrives. The 3rd time she'd set a trap and I caught the brush on a fresh clinker hanging from her tail.

Right on time this huge van arrives outside my house. I spend the next 20 minutes watching nervously as Mr Mobile Dog Groomer attempts to park this monster truck into a regular parking bay between my neighbour's cars. After a few close shaves with bumpers and headlights I decide to rescue him and offer him my neighbour's car keys to shift her car across the road. She'll never know. Another 15 minutes went by with him gradually edging closer and closer to the car in front. He can't find reverse

OK so now we have to get my friend's car back to where it edged from. It's not a big car so it's quite easy for the 2 of us to move. Trouble is he keeps turning the steering wheel too much and now we're all on the pavement. Me, him and the frickin car. Back and forward we go until eventually we get her car back in position and now with enough room for him to have another go at parking his van.

I stand there sweating with my eyes screwed up, hoping he misses next door's new BMW. 45 minutes in and we're good to go.

He opens the side of his van to reveal a big blue bath, a grooming table and a strong whiff of Bonio. Actually as he's chatting to me I discover it's him that smells of Bonio. I think he might have had a snack en-route!

With everything set up I dive inside and gently wake up the little angel. She looks befuddled as we go outside and then farts on my t-shirt as I'm struggling with the door latch.

I leave her in Mr Bonio's capable hands and get back to work. 2 minutes later I hear this blood curdling screech coming from outside. What the hell's he done to her. I run outside and stub my toe on the Recylcle Box. It was full too as they hadn't collected for a bit due to that Council strike. Hopping to the van I can see her shaking like a leaf on his grooming table. 'She doesn't like her nails being clipped, does she' he says. I didn't know cos I'm never usually there when she's being 'done'. No wonder the old place used to call her the The Screamer!

I hop back indoors and cringe through the next 19 clips as she screams and yelps. It sounds terrible so I close all the windows and doors to try and block it out. I can still hear her so I shove my iPod on and have a burst of The Shapeshifters while she endures her torture. Next thing the 2 old biddies from the corner house are out and having words with Mr Bonio. I decide against going out and telling them to shift their moth balls and piss smelling arses. He's humouring them and eventually they waddle off back and pretend to be trimming their hydrangeas.

Things go very quiet until an hour later the door bell goes as I'm changing the Jeyes Bloo block. I open the door and in she comes, dancing around like a little lamb. Mr Bonio looks worn out and his left eye is twitching.

That evening I'm off to the gym with my neighbour. We get in her car and just as she turns the ignition on she leans towards me and puts her hand under her bum. She's sitting on a dog biscuit...........................................

Trolley Folly

I think I might be sick. In fact I just burped up some bile. I'm feeling so hungover today that I might have to have a drink as nothing else seems to be making feel any better.

Things got off to a bad start this morning. Well I say morning but in fact it was 12.48 when the maid entered my hotel room. I dunno who got the biggest fright. Me at being woken by a small black Geordie with blue glasses, or her at seeing me lying naked, sideways across my bed.

She quickly shut the door. Apologised from the other side and reminded me that check out is 12 noon. A wave of panic overtook. I've missed my train and will probably be charged for another night in the hotel. Oh and I am seriously ill.

To be honest I felt so rough I didn't really have time to contemplate the immediate impact of my inability to wake up to 2 alarms!

I showered, packed and vacated the room in about 10 blurry minutes and sneaked out of the hotel side door before the receptionist knew I was gone. Dragged my now sweating body up what could only be described as a cliff face from the Quayside to the main road in the centre of Newcastle. I checked out the position of the train line from the viaduct and trekked off to the station...........in the wrong direction!

After about 10 minutes my case was getting heavier and heavier. Felt like I had a senior citizen joy riding on it cos she'd missed her shop mobility bus. I stopped outside a derelict chip shop and asked directions from a weeble in one of those fluorescent safety coats. He pointed back the way I'd just come and all I could say was 'Fuck'. The weeble grinned and walked off as I looked at the journey ahead. I feel like crying now.

The noise of my trolley wheels on the cobbles was drilling into my fragile and sweating head. What is it with fucking cobbles! Tarmac the lot of it I say.

20 minutes later I've oozed about 3 pints of stale Stella and reached the station. I've missed my scheduled train so have to purchase another one at full fare. Then I notice a London train on Platform 4. Leaving in 1 minute FFS. With my last ounce of energy I clamber over the bridge and nosedive onto the train just as the doors are shutting. An old man in top to toe green corduroy helps me to my feet as his munchkin of a wife looks at me disapprovingly. She can probably smell the aroma of last night's lager that's dampened my t shirt.

The train was boiling hot as per usual and after 3 coffee's and a Breakfast Ciabatta, that looked like a festering foot, I was still sweating. Waves of nausea kept coming and going. It was particularly bad around Doncaster. I was forced to brave the electronic sliding door toilet. I kept my gaze fixed on the flashing 'locked' sign as I pebble dashed the ceramic. Deed done and stood up to pull pants up. The frigging door starts opening and the old munchkin lady is stood there looking at my arse!

I fumble with my pants, press the lock button again and as I apologise to the munchkin my chewing gum flies out and hits her on the cheek

I'm never drinking ever again.....................

My erection can be seen from space!

I kid you not! I now have the biggest garden shed I have ever seen in my garden. Not only is it massive but it's been built on a raised platform due the slope in my garden so it's massiveness is magnified ten fold, much to the obvious delight of the neighbours. During the erection process we kept getting glimpses of the lesbians peering through their blue plastic Ikea blinds and the dirty old goat from next door kept peeking over his windowsill in a manner that made him look even more like evil Bob from Twin Peaks.

I daresay had these been normal circumstances the neighbours might have been up in arms about such a blight on the Croydon landscape. I mean our gardens are an ex-woodland so the appearance of what could be described as an bright orange Butlins Chalet might not have gone down too well. However the back garden could in no way have been described as 'normal' for the last 2 years. Not since my mate decided we needed more storage space and put up a Scouts marquee on the lawn!

Seemed like a good idea 2 summers ago and it was great for parties. Then gradually it got filled up with well.......................crap really. Then the foxes moved in and it was their turn to party in this purpose built foxy fun house with en-suite toilet. The stench of fox urine made your eyes water and piles of fox poo kept appearing in places that made you wonder how the hell the fox managed to get into such a position to drop one there. I'm sure they were using the storm lantern as a trapeze.

During the next 2 years rubbish builders came and went. Mostly went actually as they were all so unreliable that they would rarely appear on the day they were supposed to. They'd always drop by unexpectedly when your in the middle of a morning wank over some hunk's holiday snaps in OK magazine or the Torso of the Week in HEAT. Many a time I had to answer the door stooped over with an Argos catalogue covering my own personal marquee.

In the end we gave up on them and decided it shouldn't be too difficult to finish off the base ourselves. I mean how hard can it be to lay a concrete floor. Well very hard as we found out to our cost. Sand, water, gravel and 2 cold poofs is not an ideal combo. After 4 long hours of swishing around in this mess the surface had more bumps than the A3. We crawled back indoors, defeated and phoned the builders again.

Unbelievably they turned up and within a couple of days we had a flat deck for the shed.

The day of the erection arrived and whilst me and her from upstairs stood there trembling with fear at the thought of building this monstrosity. Mate was keeping us motivated by ordering us around and giving us encouragement by rolling his eyes and saying things like 'Don't touch that'!

In fact the whole thing went up very quickly and was very painless. Except when the ladders fell over while I was having a swig of tea and I spilled it all down my right arm.

It was fortunate that the erection was fast as we kept finding cat shit everywhere. We'd unearthed a cat toilet in the garden and the more we dug......the more stenching nuggets we uncovered. What is it with my garden that attracts the local wildlife to empty their bowels.

Skip's coming next weekend and the marquee will be no more. Maybe then the dog can get back in the garden again and oust the fouling felines and foxes. She needs to get her jobbies up there and reclaim her toilet.

Ok I'll keep you posted on the demise of the marquee next week and try not to do any more angry rant blogs in the meantime LOL ;-)