So, I'm just back from a trip to California and the West Coast. As I'm impoverished (awww, bless me), my Mother paid for the whole thing which was bloody nice of her. She'd been taking trips on her own for the past few years and I guess she wanted a bit of company. Way-hey! I'll come and be your sort of Edwardian 'Companion' type person; how 'Room with a View'!
Anyhoo, I'm back at work tomorrow (she reported miserably) and I've already been tipped off that I've somehow got myself into trouble without even being in the same country. Hell, I wasn't even on the same continent or time zone! Y'know, I don't know why I even bother to speak to people, 95% of them take joyous pleasure at dropping you in it. I'd be really happy living the life of a hermit only I don't fancy living in a cave. I'm sure hermitude isn't dependant on cave dwelling but the alternative is finding a hut in the middle of a forest and I guess there would need to be an exchange of money for that and council tax and well, then I'd have to earn money which would defeat the ultimate objective of telling everyone in the world to fuck right off.
...but I digress.
I've kept a journal and I'm gonna start tagging each separate day on the end of my diary posts. Here's Day 1 which was my last day at work:
Friday 17th September 2010 - Went to work and was supposed to finish at midday but didn't get my scary backlog of stuff done in time. You know how I solved that problem? [NEXT LINE EDITED OUT DUE TO THE VERY REAL POSSIBILITY I MIGHT INCRIMINATE MYSELF AND GET IN EVEN *M O R E* TROUBLE AND THIS TIME WITHOUT THE HELP OF ANY SEEMINGLY FRIENDLY WORK COLLEAGUES WHO LOVE TO DROP ME IN IT]. That's bad isn't it? [SEE HOW I LIKE TO TEASE YOU EVEN FURTHER?] Ah well, I couldn't give a shiny shite.
Anyhoo, I got out at 1pm and rocked up to the ferry terminal [I LIVE ON A SMALL OFF-SHORE ISLAND NEAR TO PORTSMOUTH] but found I couldn't get a sodding boat until 3.30pm! Bollocks! Swollen, sweaty ones at that! Ended up having to go home despite the goodbyes I'd said earlier, and had a sanga with housemate Steph. Went back at the right time and got on the stupid boat. Started to make good time - oh yeah, I was on my way to my Mother's house in Birmingham by the way, but then got stuck in rush hour traffic on the A34 around Oxford. Lost over an hour there so was getting a bit pissed off and my hands were becoming a bit claw-like. Got to my Mother's at 7.30pm only to discover I was the chosen driver to take us and a couple of rellies out for a meal. I still don't quite understand how I got lumbered with the driving after having spent so long on the road.
There is inappropriate journal stuff here that I really don't think I can add to a public diary but heck, I could be dangerous and just do it. Am I dangerous? IS Dangerous my middle name? No, it's Leigh.....
...all I will say is that there was someone 'different' to us at a nearby table and my cousin farted in all knowledge that if it stunk then the 'different' type of person to us would inevitably be blamed. There you go, not so much 'Dangerous', more like 'Dange.....' which is my way of saying I'm a bit dangerous. Don't worry though, I am famed for my usual ability to overshare. I am actually quite surprised at my unusual bout of self awareness.
Sketty (30 September - ?)isn’t a 17th Century English naval administrator or Member of Parliament. Furthermore, she has never met King Charles II or King James II. This may be due to both being dead at the time of her life. In fact, this isn’t so much a diary but the unedited spewings from the brain of one of the Century’s leading cretins. Some of it may develop into comedy unless I get to spend time in a lovely facility where someone will give me dinner.
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