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"My day ..."

Brace yourself for several paragraphs of immense wordy bliss.
Oh wow! Look at all the letters!

Anywho ... so, of course, it's chuffing it down when I leave the house. And, of course, not only do no busses turn up for an hour (there's supposed to one every 15 minutes, o-ho-ho) I'm due to have a 2-and-a-half hour mock exam, on the last day of college.

Oh joy. Someone hold me back.

Half an hour late in, and something good happens ... there's only 1 other person in the class. Hooray for my chavvy moron dosser English class - no exam then. Although we'll have it straight away after Christmas anyway ... so I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing ...

After another hour and a bit, 2 other people had turned up - the only other decent people (besides me, naturally.) in the class. So we ranted on about life, chavs, accidental facists and everything for the rest of the class.

And after that, my dad picks me up so we can go and pick up our Christmas tree. A bit late, yeah, but woo anyway ... I suppose.

Every year we go to this place and cut out tree down - you can take any one you like for £5 (even massive, massive ones) from this giant Christmas-tree planted farm somewhere.
Even if it was again (after a few minutes of glrious sunshine) chuffing it, I was kinda excited.

But ... the place was closed until next year. I suppose they didn't have enough trees left or something.

Problem.

We decide to trawl all the nurseries and random houses proclaiming their abundant stock of best quality trees and low, low prices on little luminous signs wedged into hedges.
Lies, lies, lies. Nothing left anywhere.

Almost about to give up and we spot one last place - some old woman's little cottage with about 100 trees stacked up around the back. Got a fairly decent one (a bit brown around the bottom, but aren't we all? And that's what you get for a) leaving it late and b) not being able to cut it down.

So ... went home, wet and cold and starving. Not feeling in the slightest bit Christmassy. Not even a tinsy bit.

And now I'm sat in here and my sister's boyfriend who I've never spoken to before is in the living room while she's working (the streets) until about midnight. I suppose I should go and talk to him or something ... or maybe not. Whatever.

And and and ... *thinks* ... I've got 331/2 hours of Tesco-work to do before actual Christmas. Oh joy, I'm sure everyone's decided to leave their shopping 'til the last minute, just for me.
Idiots.

And I know someone's going to ask me to wear a Santa hat or a pair of 'hilarious' antlers. It's quite hard to tell someone to f**k off and still seem nice and festive.
I might just ditch the façade and go with gut-instinct. Which may involve several customers being stabbed in the eyes with their own stupid parsnips, but what the hey.

Which leaves me either Tuesday or Friday to do my Christmas shopping. I'll probaby leave it until Friday, so like so many men before me.

ajidfowhlnajlremgkrla;mwklvfa
urrrrr .... *dies*

Oh, yes, and 3 exams to prepare for and 2 bits of coursework to do.
I must have misunderstood the term "Christmas holiday"

faggots

It wasn't a live bullet, it was a blank.
But it still would have killed him.

So why they used a blank instead, erm.
I dunno.

Whitestripes DX wrote:
> George Stevenson

Im liking it already.