I went to get my ring finger sized yesterday, I won’t go into why…
Anyway! I tried on a test ring, and was told that if I had a normal ring, I would be a size R. No problems so far. However, the lady then said that if I were to get a broader ring, I’d probably be a size Q and a half. Problem encountered.
I was awoken again by the fire alarm in my building going off this morning. I live in a block of about twelve flats, but about eleven of the flats are usually being let out to tourists on holiday… And when I say tourists, I mean morons.
Anyway, these tourists are apparently constantly burning toast or smoking indoors or whatever, so the fire bell goes off every few days. So constant is this event, that no one even bothers to find out if there’s actually a fire; the first person out into the hall just goes and turns it off, and then walks back inside.
Cut to this morning. It’s cold, I’m tired, I’m in bed, I’m naked. Wild bloody horses couldn’t get me out from under those covers; so when I hear the old familiar sound, you can bet your ass I just put a pillow over my head.
This got me thinking though, and I soon realised a worrisome fact. This post has no moral, or meaning; but simply a revelation.
I would much sooner burn to death, than bother getting out of bed for a false fire drill.
One day, it’ll be a real fire. And on that day, I’ll regret every incidence of ignoring the fire alarm, but until that day… I am going to ignore the fuck out of that fire alarm.
It’s been a while since I’ve done a serious post, so I was thinking of maybe doing something on religion, or modern media, or sexual equality, or something with a similar gravitas. I took a notepad out at work, and jotted down a few ideas. Here’s what I came up with:
Three different puns based on the names of common flavours of soup.
I’m not even joking. There are diagrams.
Want to know what they were?
Nah… You probably don’t want to know what they were…
If they have stones, they should build houses out of them. Why are these people living in glass houses when there are perfectly good stones to be used in the construction of more secure and sturdy housing?
In the garden of the bar in which I work, there are a load of outside tables for customers to eat and drink on when the weather is nice; and tragically, this means that hot days consist of me running up and down an endless parade of stone steps and balconies, littered with plates and glasses and worst of all, people. Most of the tables are in one big, triple tiered area to the right of the staircase. However there does sit one solitary table to the left… Table 32. My enemy.
Why the dramatic moniker, you ask? It’s because table 32 lies across a small area of grass, with stepping stones leading up to it; large slabs embedded into the greenery. Now, I don’t know if it’s because of my height, I’m fairly tall, or if they’re just designed to drive people insane like that Chinese torture method where they tie someone down and leave a leaking tap dripping on their head for days, but these steps are not the correct distance apart for one to just normally traverse them. Now, I know I could just walk on the grass alongside the stones, but as small a diversion as it is, it is still a diversion, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some inanimate slabs of rock tell me where I can and cannot walk, so I do at least have to stay the course; which leaves me with but two scenarios…
So some friends and I went to the woods the other day, and decided that we were going to temporarily form an alt-rock indie band for some pretentious photography. We mostly just use tambourines. Anyway, this is our totally serious, legitimate photo shoot.
First up, I have one sent it by Carles Nunns, where Ian met Carles’ friend Steve for the first time…
IAN: A’right, Steve. What do you do?
STEVE: I’m training to be an architect.
IAN: … … … Must be interesting digging up all those old bones.