Something different happened today when I went for my usual Costa coffee. The barista TOLD ME what drink I was having. She's either psychic or I go there too often. Is once a day, 5 days a week too often? Maybe I'll timeshare my daily coffee with Starbucks.
But thank God for coffee I say, as the last week at work was busy, busy, busy, and at least it kept me alive during the darkest moments of office work. In a somewhat unusual twist of events, I've actually not had time to bombard the Twitterverse with my crazy thoughts. This has left me with severe headaches, and probably an inoperable aneurysm - nothing to do with OD-ing on caffeine. I always knew the internet, or lack thereof, would be the death of me. Incidentally, before I die, can somebody remake 'the OC' and call it 'the OD'; a programme about a group of teens who go about their daily lives constantly OD-ing on drugs. It would be far more interesting, and definitely something I'd tune into before my time is up. Thaaaaanks.
Anyway, I found out something highly interesting while partaking in the activity of 'working'. Turns out there's a hotel in Portugal that claim to know when you're ready to get married! You take a simple, two-stage test and Bob's your tranny Aunty, you'll know the answer. So that the romantics of us don't bombard said Portuguese Hotel's website (as I'm sure there is a serious risk of this happening) this is what it says:
"Found that special someone that makes you smile when you wake, that makes you feel warm inside when you think of them before you fall asleep? Then you've found the one you want to spend the rest of your life with."
I feel I should point out here that, as far as I'm aware, it's still illegal to marry animals, so don't bother popping the question to Pebbles the cat just yet. Perhaps browse the Political Parties' manifestos first, see if any of them have anything about animal/human relations. UKIP might surprise you.
On my way back from my daily dose of Costa (he's lovely) I came across a Lollipop Man helping some chavettes cross the road safely. 'Excellent,' you might think, 'right on!' 'Word up!' Good old Lollipop Men & Women, risking their lives daily by stepping out infront of cars so that children don't have to. Well, not anymore apparently. In what I might suggest is now the easiest job in the world, it appears that Lollipop People (quick, get Roger 'Mr. Men' Hargreaves on the blower from beyond the grave. I've got new characters.) have relinquished the life-threatening part of their job, and now spend their days merely pressing a button at a set of traffic lights, waiting for them to turn red, and then standing in the middle of a completely safe, car-free road, presumably to guide people like the piss-head chavettes across this tarmac of doom after their dinnertime bevys. 'Follow the fluorescent man, for he will guide you to safety when you are blind drunk.' Maybe that's what they teach in the Green Cross Code these days in schools. Now there's one animated hedgehog advert I would love to see. Or perhaps the Lollipop man was there to stop angry folk like me from burning some midday rubber and mowing them down.
In a completely irrelevant turn of events, I went for a walk yesterday and saw some grown men playing with man-sized, remote controlled aeroplanes, probably in a bid to revisit their youth and stay forever young. Freud might describe this phenomena as "never wanting to grow up, because they want to shag their mothers." Anyway, disregarding the fun and larks what come from these aeroplanes for a minute, I think they're the way forward; an insight into future travel. Forget EasyJet, their prices are attrocious. Just hop onto the back of one of these babies and remote-control yourself to the destination of your choice. I think I've persuaded a friend to buy me one, much like this "yo, buy me one of them there aeroplanes. Thanks." Try it, it might work.
I think I'll ring up the Green party and inform them that I've revolutionised public transport.
Disclaimer: I've never mowed a Chav down. I have mowed the lawn once, but dad wasn't best pleased with the final outcome.