Nothing is happening. Not a fucking thing. In the last 24 hours I've been to Sainsbury's TWICE, to the post office, to the park and on a train and FUCK ALL happened. How am I supposed to keep this blog going if everyone isn't acting like a big bastard all the time?
Mind you, I met an utter wanker the other day that (I think) I forgot to blog about. He was somewhere in his mid-30's and was in the park with his two children. I assume they were his kids because they kept telling him to shut up. He must have been their dad. The man also had a really nice dog. It was a Staffordshire Terrier but it was still nice. The family and dog were playing by the river when I arrived at the park. I kept Jerk on the lead until I was sure that she wasn't going to try to kill the Staffy. She's lovely but, ultimately, violent. The two dogs sniffed each others bumholes and soon became the best of friends. They're so like humans sometimes. Then the two kids saw Jerk and wanted to pet her. Jerk was loving the attention and the kids really seemed to like Jerk and their dog getting on. Then Dad butted in.
"Yours isn't as fast as mine", was his opening gambit to me. If he was talking about cars then he's right. Mine is not as fast as his. I don't have a car and even if I did there's nothing I could do about it as I can't drive. It would be a pointless purchase. BUT if he was talking about dogs then he's a big mental. His dog is short and stumpy and mine is, well, a running dog. I said "Really?" in a pretty cheery way considering my Cunt-O-Meter was going apeshit. He was sure that his dog was faster than mine. He confirmed it several times and, even though he was obviously wrong, I really couldn't care less if his dog could run faster than mine. He then went on to name dogs that his had outrun. Not they types of dog, the NAMES of the dogs. Very odd. Apparently, his stumpy little waddle-dog has outrun Nero, Marky and Archie plus some others that I can't remember. It goes without saying that I was as impressed as anyone else who stopped watching Horne and Corden after the first episode. I felt it was time to leave. He was creeping me out. Even though the kids were having fun with Jerk I thought it best to scarper. The man wasn't all there. Then he challenged me to a race.
Well, not me. My dog. My dog and his funny little stumpy out-of-breath dog. I pretended to laugh but he was deadly serious. I said no and started on my way but he wasn't having any of it. His kids were asking him to be quiet and the atmosphere was tense to say the least. Then something just went "Go on, fuck him" in my head and I accepted the challenge. I have a ball launcher, which is a lot less pervy than it sounds. It's a long piece of plastic that you put a tennis ball in at one end then, when you flick your arm, the ball flies about 100ft away or so. The dog has much further to run to get it. Then the dog is happy. That's how it works. I let both dogs smell the tennis ball, put it in the ball launcher and hoyed it as far away as I could. Jerk went like a bat out of hell and a bat out of hell II: back to hell. Stumpy ran about 8 feet and gave up. The man explained that his dog had been racing dogs all morning and wasn't in the mood and "Come on, kids. Home time". They left. What an odd, odd cretin.
And that's as exciting as it's been this week. I thought I saw Mark E. Smith yesterday but, it turns out, I didn't. Even as I write I'm watching My Super Ex-Girlfriend. I'm really fucking bored, people.
By the way, not that anyone asked but the "winner" of the Rex Boyd photograph was Lizzie Roper. She bid £6.22 for it but has threatened to never pay. She's still getting the photo though. That'll learn her.