I bought some apples in Tesco today. I bought them purely for the reason that they are called 'Jazz' apples, a variety I've never seen before, and I'm pretty sure it doesn't exist. That and they were two packs for £2.00. Let's hope they're disgusting hot and standard cold. That's the very least I expect Tesco to do for me.
It reminded me of the following.
Fucking brilliant album.
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Thursday, 12 November 2009
Nothing fills a hole like a double decker
In Which: Our Hero Tries To Make A Difference To Global Warming But Is Shot Down In An Altercation With A Bus Driver And Instead Walks Home Angrily In The Rain Until A More Accepting Driver Is Found, At Which Point He Is Driven Home Angrily In Something More Akin To A Paddywagon Than A Public Transport Vehicle.
By the magic of iPhone, I am writing this from the comfy surrounds of a Norwich Bus. I have been inspired by a recent trip to Manchester in which I (asides from visiting the worst club I have ever been to in my life - we're talking airport style security on the entrance, replete with boxes of confiscated guns, an £8 entry fee, which bought you the privilege of hearing some prick play a best-of-90s-dance-club-hits CD on repeat at ear collapsing volume surrounded by other, sweatier pricks, and the only consolation of getting mindlessly drunk soured by the fact that even the rottenest, cheapest booze cost seven pounds fifty for a 550ml bottle. So surprisingly fun.) utilised a bus for the first time in years. This is a necessity in somewhere like Manchester, which uses the term 'city' in its strictest sense, rather than the 'large village' definition that Norwich employs. Buses seem to me like a good idea; they are brilliant if you are lazy or if you stupidly left your trumpet at the LCR on Sunday and have to travel right across the other side of the city to retrieve it, they're cheaper than taxis, better for the environment than travel by car, they speed past traffic in their own lanes. It had been so long since I had been on a bus, I had quite forgotten why I disregard all this and never use them. I now remember:
1) They smell
2) They're uncomfortable
3) They're full of pricks.
4) And mentalists
5) And chavs
6) I was refused entry because I only had a tenner, which apparently is not legal tender in the United Independent States of First Great Eastern
7) It cost me £2.20 to travel for literally five minutes. There are prostitutes out there cheaper than that.
Take heed friends, take heed.
By the magic of iPhone, I am writing this from the comfy surrounds of a Norwich Bus. I have been inspired by a recent trip to Manchester in which I (asides from visiting the worst club I have ever been to in my life - we're talking airport style security on the entrance, replete with boxes of confiscated guns, an £8 entry fee, which bought you the privilege of hearing some prick play a best-of-90s-dance-club-hits CD on repeat at ear collapsing volume surrounded by other, sweatier pricks, and the only consolation of getting mindlessly drunk soured by the fact that even the rottenest, cheapest booze cost seven pounds fifty for a 550ml bottle. So surprisingly fun.) utilised a bus for the first time in years. This is a necessity in somewhere like Manchester, which uses the term 'city' in its strictest sense, rather than the 'large village' definition that Norwich employs. Buses seem to me like a good idea; they are brilliant if you are lazy or if you stupidly left your trumpet at the LCR on Sunday and have to travel right across the other side of the city to retrieve it, they're cheaper than taxis, better for the environment than travel by car, they speed past traffic in their own lanes. It had been so long since I had been on a bus, I had quite forgotten why I disregard all this and never use them. I now remember:
1) They smell
2) They're uncomfortable
3) They're full of pricks.
4) And mentalists
5) And chavs
6) I was refused entry because I only had a tenner, which apparently is not legal tender in the United Independent States of First Great Eastern
7) It cost me £2.20 to travel for literally five minutes. There are prostitutes out there cheaper than that.
Take heed friends, take heed.
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