Wednesday started with bright sunshine, a hopeful heart and a foot full of dog shite....
Cheers!
People who let their dogs shit the pavements are, along with cyclists, creationists and people who think soap operas are real, my least favourite people in the world. Never mind rubbing Fido's nose in it, I'd say a face full of reeking dog muck might stop the fuckers being so careless in future. The result of said failure to 'hurdle the turd' was that I had to spend ten minutes in the gents at work scraping the......... (snip!)
Yeah, I'll say no more..............
Let's just say that when I bought a much needed new pair of work shoes a few days back, I was looking for sturdiness over style. The downside of this is that the deep cut treads on the soles aren't terribly conducive to a quick wipe off on a patch of grass or in a puddle.
This was 9.05am. It could only get fucking worse!
It didn't really, but my glasses did break five minutes after I got in the door that night.............
At work I have turned into a blank eyed hive of irritating ticks and twitches. It's partly a defense mechanism, designed to fend off the attentions of the people who sit around me, a bit like someone who bags a double or triple seat on a bus or plane for themselves by talking to themselves loudly and rubbing their crotch repeatedly. It's also a reaction to my working environment.
Of course, the person next to me does it too from time to time, but she's just copying me. She thinks humming the tune from the Magic Roundabout is awful clever. I mutter to myself and hum bits of whatever is rolling around the empty corridors of my mind because I don't want her to talk to me and I'm bored out of my skull. She hums to herself because she wants everyone to notice her and remark upon how witty and amusing she is, and ask her what it is she's humming, at which point she'll bore them cockless until the end of time.
There is an upside to all this brain-itching madness. I have become a bit good at the weekly football predictions. I look forward to relieving my colleagues of their readies for quite some time to come. Maybe it's the cabin fever talking, but I aim to hoover up as much cash as possible between now and next May. Who knows, it may help keep me solvent long enough to survive the financial meltdown. Hell, I could even fire it into an Irish fucking bank account in the laughably mistaken belief that it'll be safe there...............
Anyway, all charmless grousing aside, I'd like to give a little punt the Glasgow Guerrilla Gardening blog, curated by Clairwil. It's in it's infancy just now, but as the seasons tick past and we grow in number as well as new sites to cultivate and beautify, so shall the blog become more rounded.
Found this over at The Quiet Road. It made me smile.............
I only went and planted my size twelves in another mound of dog excrement tonight on the way home. This time I sent forth a series of expletive riddled howls which could be heard a good quarter mile away.
I believe some people labour under the notion that it is their god given right to let their mutt dump it's fucking guts on the pavement and simply leave it there to be trodden upon by schmoes like me. They obviously haven't seen the pavement foulers concentration camp I'm constructing in my living room..................
Wednesday started with bright sunshine, a hopeful heart and a foot full of dog shite....
Cheers!
People who let their dogs shit the pavements are, along with cyclists, creationists and people who think soap operas are real, my least favourite people in the world. Never mind rubbing Fido's nose in it, I'd say a face full of reeking dog muck might stop the fuckers being so careless in future. The result of said failure to 'hurdle the turd' was that I had to spend ten minutes in the gents at work scraping the......... (snip!)
Yeah, I'll say no more..............
Let's just say that when I bought a much needed new pair of work shoes a few days back, I was looking for sturdiness over style. The downside of this is that the deep cut treads on the soles aren't terribly conducive to a quick wipe off on a patch of grass or in a puddle.
This was 9.05am. It could only get fucking worse!
It didn't really, but my glasses did break five minutes after I got in the door that night.............
At work I have turned into a blank eyed hive of irritating ticks and twitches. It's partly a defense mechanism, designed to fend off the attentions of the people who sit around me, a bit like someone who bags a double or triple seat on a bus or plane for themselves by talking to themselves loudly and rubbing their crotch repeatedly. It's also a reaction to my working environment.
Of course, the person next to me does it too from time to time, but she's just copying me. She thinks humming the tune from the Magic Roundabout is awful clever. I mutter to myself and hum bits of whatever is rolling around the empty corridors of my mind because I don't want her to talk to me and I'm bored out of my skull. She hums to herself because she wants everyone to notice her and remark upon how witty and amusing she is, and ask her what it is she's humming, at which point she'll bore them cockless until the end of time.
There is an upside to all this brain-itching madness. I have become a bit good at the weekly football predictions. I look forward to relieving my colleagues of their readies for quite some time to come. Maybe it's the cabin fever talking, but I aim to hoover up as much cash as possible between now and next May. Who knows, it may help keep me solvent long enough to survive the financial meltdown. Hell, I could even fire it into an Irish fucking bank account in the laughably mistaken belief that it'll be safe there...............
Anyway, all charmless grousing aside, I'd like to give a little punt the Glasgow Guerrilla Gardening blog, curated by Clairwil. It's in it's infancy just now, but as the seasons tick past and we grow in number as well as new sites to cultivate and beautify, so shall the blog become more rounded.
Found this over at The Quiet Road. It made me smile.............
2 comments:
there is no punishment yet devised for people who let their dogs shit in public spaces. Even the Goyt is full of it. Bastards.
I only went and planted my size twelves in another mound of dog excrement tonight on the way home. This time I sent forth a series of expletive riddled howls which could be heard a good quarter mile away.
I believe some people labour under the notion that it is their god given right to let their mutt dump it's fucking guts on the pavement and simply leave it there to be trodden upon by schmoes like me. They obviously haven't seen the pavement foulers concentration camp I'm constructing in my living room..................
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