These new red watersnake criss-cross shoes are heaven sent.
Thanks Liam Fahy you ruddy bloody legend!!
Last night at 6pm, I had a 30 minute massage before heading home.
Around 50 mins after this massage (that was in hindsight, pretty tough on my neck and hurt my head a little) my whole right-hand-side of my face swelled up so big I looked like half of the Elephant man!
A big egg-yoke-sized-lump appeared in my cheek as if I’d been stung in my mouth by 101 bees. My neck looked like that of a wrestler. My under-chin-next-to-ear glands were inflamed as fuck. I looked like a right puffy twat.
Over-night, the swelling did go down a little (with the help of some Ibuprofen and some frozen peas) but my glands are sore to touch and I still look like a right fat bastard (in my face).
Not to mention I have meetings today and I can’t swallow very well – which is a real shitter when my favourite thing is EATING!
This week I have utterly failed to find the time to write anything on my blog as I have been a) Working all the hours god sends b) Drunk
I feel forced to write about this as it has happened more than 6 times.
Each morning, the 12 minute walk from my front door to my Redchurch St based place of work is plagued. Not by jolly school-children en route to their mecca of learning nor by beggars under my feet asking for Mars bars.
It is not even plagued by tourists asking for directions to some shit-hole or pikeys heading to the nearest Kappa tracksuit outlet.
No ladies and gents, my walk to work is completely fucked up by burly luminecent-clad road and building workers standing across the whole breadth of the pavement drinking tea out of polystyrene cups having a little mothers meeting or story-time at breakfast…
FUCK OFF WILL YOU YOU FAT GRUBBY BAD-SKINNED BASTARDS!!!!!!
En route to work this morning, battling extreme cold and a bitter wind and blinded by occasional shards of bright sunlight, I fell Catastrophically off the pavement and dug a deep ravine in my perfectly formed knee.
A nice man ran up behind be to help and soon I stood once more.
I turned to thank this man but the bastard had just fucked off and it was at this moment that I started crying - oh god… and it went on and on for not only had I carved up my perfect knobbles but more devastatingly, I had grated a huge hole in my favourite DKNY pants. My life is over.