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Monday, 16 July 2012

Ever so slightly crushed
You know, I can't be arsed to find out who said that life was a series of crushing disappointments but, by Christ, whoever it was was talking about my day. Yesterday. Sunday 15 July 2012. Now, hard as this may be to believe, I like to think the best of everything and everyone. That's why I'm such an arsy kraken, because I then feel continually let down by the idiocy of those around me.
Anyway, here is today's series of disappointments, each one yet another kick in my knackersack of optimism. 
1. Went to the Little Welsh Nibble which was advertised as a festival of food. We arrived to find that it consisted of a sole Italian trying to sear fish on a primus stove in a draughty fucking tent.
2. We ordered lunch and were told by the feckless cashier that she was crap at using the sole tool of her trade, the cash machine. And lo! this came to pass when she fucked up our order and lunch arrived later than a pregnant woman's period.
3. Upon asking the 'festival' (ha!) receptionist why there wasn't more to said 'festival' (ha!) we received a miserly shrug and the suggestion that we read the flyer. For fuck's sake...
4. We then went to Sainsbury's for coffee n cake and the disinterested staff turned us away because they'd stopped serving a full two minutes earlier. Two. Minutes.
5. So we went to Sainsbury's cake counter instead. And waited. And waited. And waited. Until someone came to serve us, running from wherever they were having a craft fag/ shit beforehand.
6. I asked for a slice of carrot cake. Fuck me if what I got, out of the eight slices on offer, was the thinnest, poxiest, gammiest slice of cake this side of an anorexics' convention.
7. Upon leaving Sainsbury's we asked the 'Here to help you!' woman when the cafe opened. You know what she told us, this font of supermarket knowledge? That she didn't know. She didn't fucking know.
8. Finbally got home to find that t'interweb didn't work unless I sat in a particular bloody chair by a particular bloody window at a particular bloody angle. 
So you know who I feel like right now? Charlton Heston at the end of The Planet of the Apes. Except instead of screaming at the crumpled Statue of Liberty I'm screaming at the piss poor examples of humanity surrounding me. "God damn you all to hell!" Disappointed? You don't say.


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