I just witnessed the last day of Woolworths in Lewisham. I didn't mean to. I'm ill and had to go to Boots to get LemSip Extra Strength and a packet of Stopshittingallthetime Plus and accidentally walked past Woolworths. It was fucking carnage. It was as if civility had been made illegal and if you didn't act like a vicious, drooling, selection box grabbing monster you had to go to jail for a million years with John Leslie and no telly. I only lasted a second but in that second I met my favourite old lady ever. I thought I had met my favourite old lady ever a few days ago in Woolworths when I was buying a Diet Coke. She was in front of me in the queue and, because she couldn't find her purse in her bag, I offered to buy her newspaper for her. It was only 40p or something and I easily make that in a day so I'm not afraid to throw that sort of cash around. She seemed very sweet and very grateful which, in turn made me happy. Then I noticed that the paper I bought was the Daily Mail so now she's a cunt and I hope she gets kicked in the face by a horse 50 times. Every day. But today's Old Lady in Woolworths was different. I met her by accidentally standing on her foot. I apologised, of course, but her response was just weird. She said "Oh, I don't mind. Really, I don't". To be honest, I was very tempted to test her out on that one but I was too ill to stand on an old lady again quite so soon. Maybe I'll see her again.
That wasn't a very nice story. But, apparently, none of my stories are. I was told this yesterday by Margaret Cabourn-Smith who may have a point. During the space of about 20 minutes I managed to tell about 5 or 6 stories all of which were horrible but I found very funny. One story, about my cousin throwing a bottle at the drummer from the Bangles and hitting her in the face, made me laugh so much while telling it that I just came across as pure evil. I'm going to have to work on that. Anyway, I have the shits so I have to go.