Whilst taking down the details of a young couple that were wanting to join our mailing list at work, I was told that the name of their street was ‘Sandwich Grove’ (which is hilarious because a grove is like a woody area where you grow shit, so… it’s where you grow sandwiches?). I laughed to […]
So as many of you know (or I suppose, as none of you know, because I’ve been neglecting this poor, poor blog, like some unwanted child that failed to live up to a parent’s expectation), Becky and I were invited to attend a faraway birthday party for some idiot with whom I used to live (sorry Nick, you may be Prince Nicholai in Romania, but you’re still the idiot with whom I used to live to me). It was a very fancy event at the Royal Palace (or a royal palace, I don’t know, there were a lot of palaces involved), and it was preceded by a delightful tour of some of the sights that Romania had to offer (including the inside of a bus, the views outside the bus from inside a bus, and the view of the outside of a bus from outside a bus).
… and of course we took a bunch of photos, because we’re piece of shit millennials.
Earlier today, I attempted to call my phone company in order to sort out an upgrade, and, when I was inevitably put on hold, I found that, in lieu of the typical polyphonic elevator music, I was to be subjected to what I can only describe as a bizarre clacking reminiscent of the old Internet dial up tone. As I was too lazy to endure the simply arduous torture of holding my phone up to the side of my face, I decided to plug it into my earphones, meaning that I could hear nothing but the robotic white noise reverberating through my skull.
As I was strolling briskly from work one morning, I was subject to a very interesting close encounter. The phrase ‘close encounter’ has an inherent connotation of extraterrestrialism, but I assure you, what met me was far stranger. On this fair-weathered morning, I was suddenly accosted by Mormons (no, not ‘morons’ although the parallels are certainly present).