randomrabbit's Diaryland Diary
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Salt my father
Hiya.
I just got a �new� office chair from Bob�s fucking second-hand chair emporium. Tight bleeders couldn�t even buy me a new one. There wasn�t anything wrong with my old one except for it slowly sinking throughout the day. I was fine with that.
Some pretty snow pictures, if you like that sort of thing.
We took Mark�s daughter sledging in the park but the mardy little chuff cried the whole time. One word mate: slap. The giant snow penis was already there. Or is it just an average snow penis? Exaggerating the length of penises is a bit of a habit.
Mark from a walk we did in November, taken just before we accidentally barrelled in to a Remembrance Day parade in Hathersage. The problem with having your hat pulled down over your ears and your hood up with the rain bouncing off your head is that you don�t hear the brass band �sneaking� the other way round the corner.
Shouting �melt you bastard� at the snow seemed to finally do the trick then. Pretty as it was and that, it is essentially an icy shit. Black ice on top of the ice that was already there was getting a bit silly. I appreciate it�s been gone a week and that it�s winter and, you know, it snows, but the malicious white bastard broke my wrist, which has meant having to totter about like an old woman on the ice for the last month, as well as several visits to the fracture clinic sitting with all the other sodding idiots who were stupid enough to fall over. This entitles me to moan incessantly about why snow�s shit.
Breaky wrist:
I�m still a little irked by the whole thing as it wasn�t a bad fall or anything, more a plop on to my arse in the back garden. It�s just my arm landed under my left buttock. I�d just started my two weeks off work over Christmas so I didn�t even get the consolation of a couple of paid days off on the sick.
It is my left arm what�s busted, so being a righty is handier, though I do only wreally right write handed (that looks rong) and use my left for everything else. Actually that�s a fib, there is something else I do right handed but I�m not telling.
Usually it�d have to be raining vomit before I�d consider catching a bus but what with stuff and things and that I had to get one to work for a couple of weeks. Why anyone would make a choice to be squashed up on one of these smelly things if they didn�t have to baffles the fuck out of me.
I�ve grown a big pair of tits with all the inactivity. I probably walk 50 miles or so a week to and from work, which seems to be about the right amount I need to do to enable me to eat all the shit I do and maintain my swimmer�s build. Not walking though it�s a bit scary how quick I�ve put weight on and makes me think I should have maybe cut back on the curry and cheese to compensate.
I had my pot off yesterday. I�m no doctor � not on a legitimate basis at least � but does 4 weeks seem a bit quick? I've never bust anything before so I'm not sure. There was a right old pong came from my arm when it came off. It was like when you do a nervous fart at the dentist and you don�t know whether you should acknowledge or ignore it. I chose ignore. I�ve got a rather fetching �skin coloured� wrist support thing instead, but I�m fairly certain there�s no race on this fucking planet that�s beige.
4:20 p.m. - 2010-01-22
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