I received a text from Dan this morning on my mobile phone this morning. He was asking, well telling me that he was coming with Simon to mine this afternoon to watch Sexy Beast.
For those not in the know Sexy Beast is an excellent UK gangster type film and not an illegal beastiality movie like it sounds.
It’s one of those films you never seem to get bored of and even though I would have preferred to be in the park, enjoying the sunshine and playing football I was content to be entertained by Ray Winstone and Sir Ben Kingsley.
After the film we turned over to ITV to watch the football – Argentina against Germany. A tricky game to both predict and pick a team you would like to win. Both are scum. Choosing the team to follow during the match is like choosing which form of capital punishment you would like to be executed by.
Gentlemen, you’re all Kuntz
After the football Dan and Simon both left, Dan to meet some more of is old friends I have never seen and Simon to do whatever he normally does when he is not watching or playing football. Pimping?
I was left all by myself. I watched the Italy/Ukraine game, a very one sided match and a very good performance from the Italians. I seriously think the can win The World Cup and if England are not to become champions themselves, I hope it is them. The Italians make such delicious food.
Dan eventually came home to my Free B&B around 22.30, saving me from the clutches of Davina McCall and Big Brother. I have managed to steer myself clear from the reality TV show for the last week but was getting sucked back into it through shear boredom. Dan, thank you for saving me. You’re next task is to visit the visit the Big Brother house and blow it up.
Now don’t come back you useless, lazy, sack of crap.
The only problem now is finding a new Leeds player to be the brunt of all my jokes!
It looks like Dan will be spending tonight at my house after he chose me to put him up for the night. That is all well and good, I have no problem with people staying over at mine, it’s just Dan… well… he doesn’t exactly like sleeping on mattresses, sofas or spare beds.
Like a cat or a dog, he likes to climb into other peoples beds for nothing more than warmth and a comfortable night’s sleep. I do not know where this bizarre quirk started, but everyone who has ever invited Dan to spend a night at theirs has experienced this.
I am slightly worried that Dan will try to sleep in my bed tonight, something I do not really want. I have made his airbed as comfy as possible and may make mine as uncomfortable as I can. I have also made a guide for him to read in case he gets confused…
Permitted Sleeping Places
This is Sean’s bed. You may not sleep here.
This is the air mattress. It has been specially prepared for you. You may sleep here.
This is a washing machine. You may sleep here. I cannot guarantee you will fit in or not die.
This is a pile of cardboard boxes on the stairs. Climb inside, they’re warm. 9 out of 10 tramps love them.
My friend Dan (of DanintheMix) came to Bath yesterday. White and I met him at the station and once he arrived we headed off into town. The first stop was the cinema, Dan had a craving for an Ice Blast and as The Odeon is the only place in town which sells them we had to go their first.
While in The Odeon lobby, slurping our cocktail of ice and E-numbers, we noticed a poster for World Cup games that are being shown in the cinema, on a big screen and in High Definition. We thought that watching the quarter final between England and Portugal in the cinema would be a fucking brilliant idea!
After booking tickets for the game we went to the park for quick game of football before heading back to mine for some nostalgic television and tasty food in the form of Maid Marian and Her Merry Men, a whole pallet of strawberries each and a packet of spicy chicken wings – a wonderful combination.
I got up this morning to find that Dan had sent me a message saying “Meet me in town at 10”. A slight problem as it was 9.23 and I was still in bed. I eventually got to town for 11 where Dan, Simon and I went on the hunt for breakfast.
I came to the conclusion today that on weekday mornings, Bath is full of fat, slow old women. We went to Mark and Spencer’s in search of some breakfast, the place was full of old biddies, full of them. It was like Land of the (Nearly) Dead.
I honestly believe that old people just go to M&S for a day out and why not? There are clothes for them to buy, a nice coffee shop on the top floor, numerous toilets in case of incontinence and escalators connecting all these facilities together, eliminating the need to climb stairs and almost halving onsite heart attacks.
The M&S café was shit. A typical old women’s café like you may see in Last of the Summer Wine. It sold cake, tea, cake, coffee, cake, sandwiches, cake, orange juice and cake. Now Me, Dan and Simon all like cake, but not for breakfast.
With M&S declared unsuitable we went to British Home Stores, another shop infested with coffin dodgers. They had a better café than M&S and we were able to enjoy a hearty, full English breakfast. Dan was also very tempted by a thick slice of cheese cake but his arteries sent a warning message to his brain advising him against it.
After brekkie it was shoe shopping. As I have mentioned here before I hate buying clothes of any description. If I could I would wear one pair of shoes forever, but my current pair were beginning to fall apart and become rejected by my body. I was in and out within 10 minutes, which is acceptable I suppose.
After that it was off the JJB Sport, we needed a football for the park and Dan wanted some Nike trainers. He refuses to wear anything else, there is probably a sponsorship deal going on somewhere, either that or is he is very vain.
We got pair of balls for a fiver, Dan couldn’t get his shoes although took some considerable interest in a pair or women’s Nikes. A puzzled shop assistant approached, probably to inform Dan that the trainers were in fact intended for ladies. Dan left. Fast.
We then went to buy Slush Puppies, another favourite of ours. Dan yet again proved to me and Simon that we cannot take him anywhere when he randomly blurted out “Simon! Are we going to meet your yob mates in the park?” The old lady who worked in the sweet shop with the Slush Machine looked puzzled – the same kind of look the shop assistant in JJB had.
We finally got to the park where we played some good football for about 3 hours. Simon was very good and taught us both some tricks, it was like having a master class from Wayne Rooney (kind of). Dan was good but got very hot and sweaty. I think he also got very frustrated and let out a very loud cry of “C*NT!” following a nasty tackle.
After a whole afternoon of running around in the heat, kicking a ball around we left – knackered. Hobart and I staggering back to my flat on Newbridge Hill – even professional footballers drive home from training – not fair!
Hobart is now sitting in my sofa drinking coke and burping. He is pissing around on his phone and waiting for me to finish blogging so he can blog himself. His phone keeps going off. It’s annoying. I haven’t told him yet but if it goes off again I am going to put the phone in the fish tank.
Last night I went to Mr. White’s house, or as I have now re-branded it “Mr. White’s Concentration Camp”.
The plan was to go for a quiet, relaxing evening and a few beers, White however seemed to find it necessary to cause me a considerable amount of stress.
Firstly, while we were sitting outside in the garden he thought it would be funny to give me a soaking with the garden hose whist watering his plants. Not funny White, not funny.
Later on that evening we were all sitting around the garden table when I noticed that a large amount of runny bird diarrhoea which had been commented on earlier was missing. White then tried to trick my brain that it had been flicked onto me. After checking my clothes, hair and every other nook and cranny I realised that the shit was not on me. Still, not funny White, not funny.
As the evening drew to a close we were sitting inside watching Lost on E4. White the Concentration Camp Sergeant and I have already seen all of Season 2 on our frequent trips to the US (and NOT torrent downloads) and caused annoyance for the others watching it by revealing plot lines from future episodes.
White then thought it would be funny to terrorise me even more by punching, or as he called it “tickling” me in the ribs. Again, another trait of a Concentration Camp Sergeant – “This isn’t a whip I am hitting you with, it is a sponge and I am massaging you”.
I was tired and wanted to rest peacefully on the sofa, yet every time I begun to relax, White’s long and bony fingers were dug into my body. He probably wanted to steal my heart and had he had any ratchets would have tied me down reached for my chest shouting “Gallima… gallima”.
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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