This morning I had to make another trip to the rubbish tip. There was an item of furniture at my old house which required removing and placing in some landfill of an ex-conservation area.
Along with the furniture I took a huge bag of junk from the garden containing bits of wood, scrap metal and an old hamster cage. This bag had been outside for months and after gathering a considerable amount of rainwater, fucking stunk.
I was at the tip, lifting the sack of crap out of the car when I noticed brown liquid pouring from a hole in the bag. The brown fluid could only have been one thing – six year old dried on hamster urine, which, having been mixed with rainwater had turned back into a liquid.
Last week it was filthy, rotten bin juice. This week it’s ancient hamster piss. What hazardous waste can I look forward to coming into contact with next week? Caveman semen?
Anyway, I had better leave. The T2000, AKA Simon my football coach has insisted I join him for a kick around this afternoon in the park. I told him about my dodgy hamstring but, like Mr. White and pubs, Simon doesn’t like to be told no.
He thinks my injury was caused by not preparing myself adequately and has told me that he will make sure I warm up this time. I think he is planning on making me run until I vomit like David Beckham. If I do need to puke I will stand near to him.
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