Day 14, or ‘Tuesday’ by my reckoning, was a quiet time until I received a text asking if I would like a spare ticket to see Frightened Rabbit at the ABC. Went along to the gig, decided that seeing a band who specialise in ‘break up songs’ whilst feeling emotionally raw was not a good idea and ended the night soaked in rum. I also made it into a stanger’s facebook status update (he gave me a demo CD with his name on it and I cyber-stalked him without adding him. WE’VE ALL DONE IT. STOP JUDGING ME.)
“got to love Glasgow. Some girl in a bar points out that I look like Joe off the X Factor, gets someone to take a photo of us and then proceeds to adopt a Cheryl Cole accent and tells me stuff like, “ahh, well Joe, what an excellent song choice” etc.”
HE LOOKED LIKE JOE MCELDERRY. However, I was so drunk I forgot he wasn’t actually Joe and I wasn’t Cheryl Cole. What I’m saying is, later in the night I punched a toilet attendant.
Day 15 I spent largely hungover on my friends’ couch, but later in the evening we ventured out to buy me a toothbrush and a pair of knickers from Tesco. I got into a pants conversation with the checkout girl – literally. She asked if I wanted the hanger, I declined. I said I didn’t normally hang up my pants and she agreed. She says her pant storing preference is folded in a drawer. Interesting. What’s your panty preference?
On Day 16 I spoke to a man in Curries Digital about my MP3 Player. Apparently he hasn’t even heard of the brand. Luddite.
On Day 17 I spoke to my inner glutton. MERRY JESUS DAY.
On Day 18 my true love sent to me a big fat tummy to fondle.
On Day 19 I slept for twelve hours straight and met my inner sloth.
On Day 20 I told a man he’d ‘catch his death’ ’cause he was outside a pub in nothing more than a t-shirt. This comment accompanied a day of making several old lady type clichés. I should befriend an old lady soon. Definitely.
