Thursday, 3 December 2009

Day Two - One good deed deserves some vodka

Weather wise - today was rather scrunty. My tall friend kindly gave me a lift into town to save me time. Ironically and rather irritatingly we spend the majority of the journey sitting stationary in the car watching the population of Normanton slither past the car in their ill fitting trousers and toothless grimaces. I did make it into town in time to catch the uni bus and managed to englulf the entire bus under my poncho and within my soft plumage.

Scurried in for my brief meeting to deduce whether or not I am dyslexic or not (are you dyslexic? yup - thought so, you so look the type, have some tinted plastic to read through in a vague fashion) I lumbered up to my first Lecture, scoffing to myself slightly at the writing on the board outside which had previously said "Wee on my tits" had now been slightly altered to "Wee on my nits". Apparently head lice, although unpopular in school, was now semi popular with the local groups which embarked on light scatting.

Lecture was gripping as usual and left myself and my two friends (three of the oldest in the class) questioning our knowledge over Adverbs and Interjection. Followed by two hours of brain storming in the library with slight bursts of bulbous laughter before we three parted and filtered off in different directions.

Aaah yes.. The good deed. The reason in which I started this blog in the first place. Today my good deed was to donate my time to a friend. She's been having an utterly shite time recently which has just been amplified by the distinct lack of support from her family. Recently (after a very distraught phone call from her) I offered my services as a therapeutic ear and self confidence boosting instrument for her. Obviously for free. After about two weeks of gentle persuasion she agreed (she had been worried that I was too busy with my life as it was and due to her massive loathing of herelf had felt she was not worthy to take up any more of my time) Due to confidentiality reasons I cannot divulge the contents of our therapeutic conversation, but I did leave hers two hours later with her feeling a lot more positive and happy, and I made a very good attempt at tiring out her 2 year old by locking him in a deep storey about all the trousers I have ever owned and how Bagpuss, although slightly creepy, could beat the shite out of Iggle Piggle.

After promises of an equally good, if not better session next week, I set off into the night, clutching my broken i-pod which only works if I hold it at a slight angle. I set off into the night to meet my delectable dear friend off the bus, after which we both floated through town like shiney teeth to meet our pint sized friend for a swim around the spirit shelf at the Friary.

After hours of vodka swilling, whisky splurting and loud, thigh slapping hilarity (including the surrounding people to curiously hunker towards us - purely to catch a snifter of our brilliant babble then repeat to friends who evidently didn't give a shite) we all went home. After being safely deposited  on the bus by the aforementioned delectable friend I pondered upon my day, and also upon my life. I may be a rather podgy, badly dressed short sighted splodge, but the people I have in my life are rather terrific, and if I could train Raoule to do so - I'd have him write it in his web!

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