So, I'm back from Edinburgh and what has happened?
Well, I wasn't welcomed home, that's for sure. As soon as I walked through the living room door Jerk went ballistic and barked at me repeatedly. Jerk's never barked at me before. It was very distressing. Now you could say after 4 weeks she'd forgotten who I was. That would be very hurtful but you could say it. I think it was more to do with me being surrounded by bags. I had three bags over my shoulders (yes, I have three shoulders. Why not?) and was carrying a bag with pillows in it. Jerk had never seen me be that shape before. I'm an odd shape at the best of times but Jerk hated this new one. Actually, Jerk has barked at me before. Once when I put a hat on. She barked for ages until I took the hat off. She's a bit like Gok Wan. Except I don't want her to be put down.
It took me a while to get over my bollocking from my dog but luckily I could now relax with a vegan biscuit, vegan tea and watch my much missed vegan television. The vegan film Down and Out In Beverly Hills was on and I have fond memories of that being a really good, funny film. Anyway, those memories have been kicked to shit now. Why did I watch it again? I'm a vegan idiot.
By the way, I'm still vegan. I even made a curry on Tuesday to prove it. I also bought vegan cheese but I am terrified of it and can't imagine eating it. I reckon there is no difference between chalk and vegan cheese.
So back to normality then. And it really is. I've walked Jerk in the park twice since I've been back and I've had two arguments with people. That's normal, isn't it? An argument a day? Sounds right anyway. One was with a shirtless man who got angry because Jerk touched his back with her nose. "That fucking dog should be on a lead", he shouted. "You're the one naked on the grass drinking beer at 10am", I replied. "Fair enough", he said.
It wasn't a very big argument, not by my standards, but it was an argument nonetheless. The other one was me, once again, trying to explain to people that rubbish goes in the bin. I'm always amazed at how some people take their kids out for picnics, give them toys to play with and make sure they get enough outdoor time yet don't mind showing them that being a lazy cunt is fine and swearing loudly at strangers is also completely normal. Yesterday, I was on a train and heard a Mum talking on the phone while her son was in his buggy beside her. "You won't get custody, Darren. You're a drunk", she shouted. "I's rather kill him than see him with you". God, I hate parents. And Britain. And the world.
I may hate parents but I do try to help them. Well, I did. I won't again. It was a lovely sunny day yesterday so there was a plague of Mums and kids all over the park, mainly by the climbing frames beside the park shop. One Mum was walking briskly away from the throng and I could see she looked slightly panicked. She was walking faster now and looking around the park frantically. "Charlotte", she shouted. "Charlotte". This went on for a couple of minutes and I started panicking too. Losing a child is as bad as life can get. This could be horrible. When I walked passed the tennis courts I had seen a couple of kids playing but I didn't see anyone with them. The woman was still frantically shouting "Charlotte" so I ran over to her and told her where I had seen the kids playing, maybe one of them is Charlotte. She fucking ignored me! Didn't say a word. She just ran over by the river and sure enough Charlotte came running up the riverbank. Charlotte is a Spaniel, I think.
Who the fuck calls their dog Charlotte? That's so stupid. Charlotte is a cat's name.