- Mood:
Obsessed - Listening to: Everyone Else Going to Work
- Reading: The Riot Act
- Watching: For Typing Errors
- Playing: Russian Roulette
- Eating: Gü Chocolate Brownies; they are damn fine.
- Drinking: Red Bull and Innocent Vanilla smothie.
It is 9:30am and I should really be asleep, but there was a power cut overnight, which reset my clock to 12am. I got up at what I thought was 3pm – failing to notice the fact that it was completely dark. That wasn’t my fault, as I only open my bedroom curtains on very special circumstances. Besides, the English weather is so fucked-up by global warming and terrorism and stuff, that I tend not to notice any of it anymore… unless it is inducing hypothermia or turning me lobster red.
Anyway, I got my self a little more presentable and ambled out of my home without the slightest care. I did notice that the streets seemed unusually quiet for 3pm but, again, I thought nothing of it. Not until I reached the local Co-Op and found it closed for business did I feel particularly confused. When I powered on my mobile, to find several missed calls and text messages I realised something was up; when I checked the clock on the phone and it – without so much as an apology – proudly announce that it was a quarter-past eleven.
This sort of madness entirely erodes my mind; especially when I was relying on the shop being open to purchase the customary Red Bull liquid crack and Embassy in order to make me feel and appear less like a corpse. That meant only one thing… the fluorescent lighting hell of all that is wrong with the world when you only need cigarettes.
I walked all across town, slowly, and grumbling to myself in my head constantly. Half an hour later – and after negotiating the tin-pot cash machines outside – I was inside the shop. None of the staff were doing any work – during the overnight shifts they are just paid to get in your way and not have even the slightest of cues as to where any of the produce actually is. ‘Oh sorry, I have no idea where the Monster Munch are, I do dairy. Ian does the crisps; find him. He is the man who looks like he should never have been allowed to be introduced to the public.’
As soon as I enter Tesco, I forget everything I needed to buy. If I write a shopping list I always lose it en route to the shop, so I don’t bother. Walking around in what was, admittedly, senseless manner I suddenly realised I probably looked like a shoplifter. I had best start picking stuff up. As opposed to wandering around trying to remember what I actually came out for. Quick, put some shopping in the basket. What sort of shopping?
Into the basket went Tart au Chocolat, miniature Chocolate Hobnobs, Several varieties of Kettle Chips, tandoori chicken, chocolate brownies, those pointless cocoa pops straw things, double cream for the tart, Belgian waffles, those chocolates that melt in your mouth (yeah man), Greek yoghurt, Greek honey to go with the aforementioned yoghurt, double choc-chip muffins, pop-tarts, innocent smoothies,,, at this stage, the basket was overfilled and my arm hurt. I still hadn’t bought a single item that I had actually needed to buy. At around the same point as I became completely unravelled it hit me; Red Bull! Cigarettes!
I got to a till before my arm actually shouted out ‘ouch and unceremoniously tipped out the basket onto the belt. The lady very kindly asked if I needed any help with packing, and I couldn’t be arsed to do it myself so I let her do it. At least she was sat down.
Let me tell you: handing over £60 for what was, essentially, a lot of food all entirely devoid of any goodness, was hard.
Nonetheless people… this tragic tale does have a very important moral; one that we should all take on board.
Never go shopping in the middle of the night after smoking strong weed.
Lipstick
High
Anguish
