I don't know about you but I can now pretty much tell when a day is going to be bad. Something weird or stupid will happen really early in the day and it will trigger something in me that senses 24 hours of doom. Like last week, I woke up and washed my face with a candle. I just knew that day was going to be shit and it was. Yesterday, I went strolling around Bristol really early in the morning and spotted a Dalek and Darth Maul collecting for the Marie Curie Cancer Care Fund. I thought, they've changed. And then I thought, today's going to be shit, isn't it? My God, it was shit.
Now what I'm about to tell you all took place over the space of about 25 seconds. It started quick and ended quick (mainly because I walked away all confused and angry). This also might be the most My Blog blog I've ever done. What happened was so me that it just felt like it was taking the piss. It felt like a summary of my existence or, even worse, a cover version of my life played by someone even worse than me.
The great thing about not living in a tiny metal box at the bottom of the sea is that you can get out and walk about in the street. Walking is a good thing to do and it's also free. In a way, I'm glad Hitler lost the war. Walking is such an enjoyable, free thing to do that to even think about having to show identity papers every three feet would somehow sully it. And the great thing about being in a strange place with nothing to do and no-one to hang out with means that you can walk wherever and whenever you like. You can explore. Look at the architecture. Go to HMV. Contemplate taking a photo of a Dalek and Darth Maul doing their bit. Go to HMV again. I'm telling you, it's what freedom is all about.
Imagine then walking freely in the sunshine, happily looking at all the beauty of Bristol, when a bunch of cunts start shouting at you.
That's what happened to me. I was listening to the stunning track Ya Sumeera by The Divine Comedy on my iPod and was in a little world of my own as I walked past what I assume is a Registry Office. I didn't notice the 40-odd people standing outside it because they mingled in perfectly with all the other people going about their business but luckily they were loud enough to get my attention.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? GET OUT OF THE WAY. I SAID GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
I was really confused because I had lovely music in one ear and loud, angry people in the other but I turned round quickly enough to find out what the problem was. All I saw where hands waving me out of the way so I took my earphones out to hear.
"WILL YOU MOVE! GET OUT OF THE BLOODY WAY!"
Right. Now I can see what's happening. I have 40 people shouting at me to move, some of whom have cameras and confetti. One has a video camera. Great. I've walked into a wedding and somehow I'm in front of the bride and groom.
Time to dart out of the way and apologise.
That's the thing, you see. As I was apologising I noticed that the bride and groom hadn't actually appeared yet so I'd only actually been standing in front of the doorway but these people were still shouting at me. "COULDN'T YOU HAVE WALKED ROUND? CAN'T YOU SEE WE'RE TAKING PHOTOS! YOU SAW US ALL STANDING HERE!"
Christ Almighty. These people are nuts, I thought, just leave it.
Sadly, the bride's grandfather had other plans.
He walked a few steps after me and said "What was that all about? Why would you do that? Cheeky shit. You nearly ruined the wedding", he insanely blurted. It only took me about half a second to gather all the info. I had walked down a street that I am free to walk down. I hadn't noticed a wedding going on. They certainly didn't look too dressed up for this special day and me walking past them would have taken one fucking second. But instead of letting me pass, they screamed and shouted and now an old man is calling me a shit. "I said sorry", I repeated. "I had no idea it was a wedding".
"It's my granddaughter's wedding. What do you think we're standing here for?", said the wrinkly bastard while poking me in the arm with his skeleton finger. I snapped.
"Get your hand off me right now", I said in my best scary Northern Irish voice. It's incredible how quickly that comes back after being poked by a really old man.
This further upset some of the other arseholes and they turned to tell me to go away, something I had wanted to do from before the beginning. But while they did that the bride and groom appeared and only half of their group noticed due to them being insane and shouting at me. The shouting continued and I walked away shaking.
I've never wanted to punch an old man in the face more than I did then. I keep going back over everything in my head and I really can't see what I did that was wrong. I did NOTHING and got abuse for it. If that old man was shouting at me and poking at me just so I'd have a blog to write then I thank him but he really didn't have to go to such lengths. Shit happens to me by itself, people don't have to just throw shit at me. The only tiny bit of joy that I can get from this is that as I left I saw the guy with the video camera still looking at me. So when that girl watches her wedding video there won't be lovely footage of everyone cheering and throwing confetti and wishing her well. No. Instead the greatest day of her life will be commemorated by me saying "Get your hand off me right now" to her grandfather.
I tried calming down but I couldn't. Had I ruined someone's wedding? No, I hadn't. Or had I? NO. I really hadn't. I'm sure I hadn't. Definitely 90% sure that it wasn't my fault. I bought a falafel and went to sit in the park.
The park. That'll calm me down. Stupidly, I sat next to fucking young people. NEVER sit next to young people. They will talk with words that hurt you. Things like "Russell Crowe is incredible" and "I'm staying in Dad's flat in Japan for three months". Bastards. Then they get out an iPad and treat it like it's yesterday's toilet paper instead of what it truly is. It's tomorrow's toilet paper today. They weren't helping my mood so I tried to ignore them and enjoy my falafel. Or should I say my bread and lettuce. The lady in the shop seems to have forgotten about the falafel. But I'll eat it. Bread and lettuce is all I deserve after what I've done. WHICH WAS NOTHING. Reading didn't help either. I started Richard Herring's book but the first 30 pages are all about fighting and it just wound me up more. Would it have been so bad to just deck one old man just once?
But a tiny wee fly then landed on my page. I blew on it in the hope that that would shoo it off but it didn't move. I gently brushed it but it stayed still. The thing is, I had finished my bread and lettuce, the young people were now talking about Gossip Girl and I couldn't read because I was so wound up. I wanted to go back to my depressing B&B where I'll be happy. The fly wasn't ready to move yet so there was only one thing for it: to close the book and kill the fly.
Except there was an alternative. I could sit there and wait for the fly to go away of it's own accord. And I did. I sat there for five or ten minutes waiting on a fly to get bored of reading How Not To Grow Up and move on. After all, it's not really in my way. It's not going to be there forever and if I make a fuss it'll only make me feel bad.
HOPE YOU GOT THAT, YOU BONY-FINGERED OLD CUNT.