Sundays.
Sundays are a bit rubbish. Mine often start like this mornings did, with a voluntary shift in the community run village shop, where i eat penny sweets and read the Sunday papers without buying them. Then it's home time, and my engagement with the Hollyoaks omnibus. I hate Hollyoaks. Everyone hates Hollyoaks, yet we'll all still have our Oaks sesh.
A benefit of still living at home in my Parent's attick, means the joys of a British Sunday Roast. Yesss, a great chunk of meat, crispy burnt on the outside and bloody and chewy in the middle, sliced and accompanied with a selection of boiled seasonal vegetables, and the love of everyone's life... roast potatoes. It'd all be rank if it weren't for soaking it all in gravy. Which, is basically meat flavoured liquid. Which, has now put me off it for good.
Moving back into town with the boys in 3 weeks, will result in no more roast dinners, but plenty of Hollyoaks.
I bought sofas yesterday. Yes - sofaS! TWO! It's like my odd childhood Sir Terence Conran-esque dream of having a Chesterfield has come too soon. I've been flung into adulthood with two pieces of furniture i shouldn't own untill i'm at least 32. Sofas are like pensions. Actually, sofas are nothing like pensions.
I must mention Archie. (Pictured). The little fella has deceased aged 6 after a couple of weeks of vomiting seed, and looking like he was a bird with a massive massive hangover. Goodbye mate, we'll miss your attempts at whistling the Adams Family theme tune, and you attacking yourself in your little heart shaped mirror.
Sundays are a bit rubbish. Mine often start like this mornings did, with a voluntary shift in the community run village shop, where i eat penny sweets and read the Sunday papers without buying them. Then it's home time, and my engagement with the Hollyoaks omnibus. I hate Hollyoaks. Everyone hates Hollyoaks, yet we'll all still have our Oaks sesh.
A benefit of still living at home in my Parent's attick, means the joys of a British Sunday Roast. Yesss, a great chunk of meat, crispy burnt on the outside and bloody and chewy in the middle, sliced and accompanied with a selection of boiled seasonal vegetables, and the love of everyone's life... roast potatoes. It'd all be rank if it weren't for soaking it all in gravy. Which, is basically meat flavoured liquid. Which, has now put me off it for good.
Moving back into town with the boys in 3 weeks, will result in no more roast dinners, but plenty of Hollyoaks.
I bought sofas yesterday. Yes - sofaS! TWO! It's like my odd childhood Sir Terence Conran-esque dream of having a Chesterfield has come too soon. I've been flung into adulthood with two pieces of furniture i shouldn't own untill i'm at least 32. Sofas are like pensions. Actually, sofas are nothing like pensions.
I must mention Archie. (Pictured). The little fella has deceased aged 6 after a couple of weeks of vomiting seed, and looking like he was a bird with a massive massive hangover. Goodbye mate, we'll miss your attempts at whistling the Adams Family theme tune, and you attacking yourself in your little heart shaped mirror.
I suppose i'll go enjoy the rest of my Sunday... basically sulking due to the fact it's back to work tomorrow. It's probably best i just get drunk. Yeah, i'll do that. Maybe not quite as much fun as drunk Thursday though.
TTFN! xxxxo
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