Thursday, 28 January 2010

Piercing wit

Ok, I’m sorry. I received a rollicking today. Nothing serious, it was just that one of the lorry drivers I spoke about a while back had noticed that my rate of blogging had fallen off a bit. I am grateful that someone is actually following the blog. And I’m not worried that it is someone who lives in a tin box on wheels thru’ the week with their only companion: the internet and a CB radio. I’m not proud, God knows I can’t afford to be, I’ll accept anyone as a follower of my blog. As long as they don’t start to stalk me, that would be just creepy.

By the way, Ralph, the little white pills really hit the spot, thanks.

So now I have to think of something to say.

I see in the paper this week that someone has been complaining about scruffy people in the media. I don’t really care what people look like, to an extent. Jeremy Clarkson in jeans doesn’t bother me. The weird girl who served me in Tesco café the other day did bother me. She had piercings in a strange place. In her wrist. Surely, as someone who works with food, she shouldn’t have been allowed near the hot food server, let alone the caffe latte maker. I work in a company that makes food. I am not allowed to wear my piercings at work in case they fall into the product, I haven’t told the boss about the Prince Albert as I’m scared he might want to inspect it, but apparently you can be pierced and serve food. Strange.

Quite often as I walk round the shops I will see some pierced freak with more metalwork than the Eiffel tower hanging out of their face, ears and God knows where else. These are the same people that, when sat at the checkout, refer to me as “mate” At this point the red mist starts to rise before my eyes. I want to be called “Sir” or “Mr…” I certainly don’t want to be called “mate” by someone who is least likely to be my mate.

Mate is a slang term for friend, or a term for a procreational partner. I cannot see myself becoming friends with the lank haired victim of a deranged blacksmith. Nor can I see myself procreating with this missing link. I have been known to explain this in a loud voice, to deaf ears. Probably the piercings are weighing down the lobes so much that the ear canal is closed. I waste my time. Why do I bother?

I’m all for a little individuality, but please don’t call me “mate” unless you have known me for some time or I have slept with you.

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