This evening we noticed a lady wandering down the street, knocking on all the doors of the houses. As regular readers will remember, I recently had an encounter with some Jehovah Witnesses, trying to get into my property, so I am vary of opening the door to cold callers. The nuisance of a woman eventually came to our front door. Naturally I didn’t answer when she rang the bell. Before leaving to pester somebody else, she chucked a leaflet though the letterbox. At this point I was disappointed I didn’t answer the door to her. The leaflet was from the Conservative Party. It had been a long week at work and I quite fancied a political debate. If she ever does come back, I’ll tell her that there are two things we don’t do in our household. One is vote for the Tories. The second is use the word “cunt”. However, there is one exception. The use of the word “cunt” is permitted when describing David Cameron. That’ll be one guaranteed way never to see Tory Girl again.
Claire has now gone out with friends, so I am left on my own. I am spending the evening in watching Aladdin, in memory of Robin Williams. It has been years since I’ve watched it and I forgot how good it is. Williams’ performance as The Genie is superb. As Claire is going out for a meal, I had to eat something nice too and decided upon pizza. For the last few months, we’ve been using Papa John’s, as it’s the best pizza delivery I have found. I discovered this evening, however, that while PJ’s is great for special offers if ordering for two or more people, ordering alone is a bit rubbish. Therefore, it was back to Dominos. I felt like I was cheating. I’m sorry, Papa. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t like Dominos as much. Please try to do some better offers for those saddos dining alone.
Last night, Simon and John came round for the evening. Since I moved to Weston, their visits have been rare. During the days of Newbridge Road, we would often visit Pizzarella on Chelsea Road for our evening takeaway. Shortly after I left my flat, the mad, but extremely good pizza maker, who ran Pizzarella, appeared to leave the pizza outlet. Whether this was in fear of bankruptcy, due to me moving away, I don’t know. I did order from there a couple of times since his departure, but sadly, it’s not been quite the same.
Claire and I tried Dominos, which was OK, although the dough is a bit funny. Then we moved onto Pizza Hut. Again, the pizza was nice, but often delivered in a less from satisfactory standard – most recently resembling a nappy. I was introduced to Papa John’s Pizza by a former work colleague. While a little sceptical at first, as soon as I tried the pizza, I was hooked. It was amazing. What’s more, is they always seem to have a deal, along with offering loyalty points, so more often than not, I find myself with a free, or vastly reduced, pizza.
It was at my house yesterday evening that Simon and John lost their Papa John’s virginity. The fact they ate it all and didn’t vomit shows they must have enjoyed it. We ate outside, which was nice at first, given the heat from the longest day of the year; although I got a little scared when a seagull started hovering above our heads. Clearly this bird liked pizza too and looked like it was either going to dive bomb us and steal half a large double peperoni or shit on us.
The seagull led us to discuss science, mainly what would happen if humans could fly. The talk of selected breeding was raised, with an idea of breeding humans with webbed hands until, over thousands of years, they developed wings and the ability to take flight. Simon proposed that humans should also be bred to grow gills so they could dive to the bottom of the deepest of oceans, but that would be silly – they would, of course, be eaten by sharks and jellyfish.
When the pizza had been eaten and talks of producing a master race came to an end, we packed up the garden chairs and went indoors. I showed Simon the new episode of Friday Night Dinner, which we all enjoyed immensely, before we all picked another item of TV to watch, which was enjoyed, but not quite as much – mainly due to the fact I was growing increasingly tired. Simon made a wise choice of One Foot in the Grave, I picked Peep Show, while John went for Brass Eye. A little known one off series from Channel 4. These are all from DVDs I own and have paid for with my own money, so it’s not like I could really complain about disliking any of them.
John also broke the major news that he was moving out of his cottage in Marshfield and returning to his canal boat to live. Sadly, this means no more barbecues in the back garden or Bomberman sessions on his big TV. The return to the boat will, however, mean barbecues on a towpath and me watching Simon and John dispose of dead, bloated and drowned badgers (see an old blog from 2010).
Two large pizzas and a dessert for under twelve quid. Thank you, Papa John’s.
It made a nice tea and there’s even leftovers for tomorrow. Cold pizza is amazing.
The Domino’s Pizza man was at Bath City’s Community Day this afternoon. As he approached, I was about to point out that Pizza Express were better, when I noticed he was carrying a box of Haribo. I think these were intended for children, but I was given some. I had to ask though.
Is it bad that almost all the text messages and emails I receive are not from friends and family, but from pizza takeaway chains? Apparently tonight I can buy one pizza and get another free. No doubt I’ll get another text later in the week, about some bollocks promotion for Friday night. Get to feck. We ordered a pizza last week from an establishment I won’t mention, for fear of being sued, going to prison and getting raped in the showers. The pizza was disgusting. It was wet, soggy and tasted like I was eating a baby’s nappy. I will add, it wasn’t from Pizzarella, who, despite sadly changing ownership, are still by far the best pizza takeaway in Bath. No, the nappy pizza was from one of those national chains. Eugh!
One of the few texts I did receive this year which wasn’t regarding half price pizza, was from Claire. She text me from work today, to inform me that maintenance had been carried out in our house and sadly I couldn’t have a shower tonight. I don’t really like showers and could happily wander around for days in my own stale perspiration and body odour. However, work colleagues would get a bit disgusted and I don’t think Claire would like it very much either if I gave up washing. I therefore had a bath. It was a nice bath actually. I was tempted to get some candles, a glass of wine and play Enya, whilst drifting away in a tub of Radox, hopefully not passing out from the hot water and drowning in my sleep.
I was spared death by the simple fact that I have plans this evening, so therefore had to cut my bath short. I’m going down to Twerton Park to watch the irresistible force of Bath City take on the immovable object of Ebbsfleet United. Good thing I have a season ticket, as it’ll no doubt be a sell-out, with literally billions of fans watching the game on television worldwide.
Now enough of this blogging lark, it’s time for my tea. Fancy a guess of what I’m having? You’ll be jealous. Turkey Dinosaurs! Raaaaaw!
On this website, you’ll find me blogging (almost) daily about everyday life, living in Bath, working with computers, and the occasional bit of football stuff thrown in.
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