If You Can’t Stand the Heat…

I’m a cook. I cook things. That people eat. It’s going rather well, I must say. When the real cook gets back oof sick leave and finds everyone prefers my cooking however there may be fireworks. And not in a good, critical-sex-scene-in-romantic-comedy way. More a errant-rocket-propelling-you-at-high-spedd-towards-your-dynamite-collection-which-you-keep-next-to-your-pressurised-gas-collection-and-puddle-of-oil way. This, as I’m sure you can understand will not be ideal. On the other hand I’ve been offered a potential promotion to cook when the current one leaves. This will be nice as I do so love pay-rises.

I had a day off yesterday which resulted in me spending a day on the sofa in nothing but my ragged underpants reading endless tracts of Terry Pratchet and Dante before playing Oblivion and eating boiled eggs at THE SAME TIME! yes, I am a boy who can do two things simultaneously. I’ll soon be featured in Vogue as a genetic mishap, be probed to within an inch of my life and be dropped into a film role as Arnold, chief gimp of Twickenham (coming soon to a cinema near you). I’ve never had a day off for no reason before, it was delightfully vague.

Thursday night saw me recieving a visit from a friend who came bearing white cider *gags*. I hate white cider, it makes me gag, feel ill and suffer hernias, ruptures and Barbera Streisand. After my fourth glass we went down to the Spar to get some more. Then we had a cigarette and drank more. Then we whatched Lead Balloon and Lost. I then went to bed. I woke up the next day feeling as if I’d suffered from hernias, ruptures and Barbera Streisand. This could explain the inactivity of my day off.

I’ve just had chav types come into the shop. How in the name of Chris de Burghs collosal eyebrow do they not realise the sheer liquid wonderment that they inspire in people? They look like complete retards yet mock others for the way they look, are always seen in gangs, have to swear every sentence and smell overpoweringly of excessive quantities of deoderant. And the track suits? WHY???? I’ve never seen a chav engaging in any other entertainsment than running away form the law… bloody freaks. They seem to have found asking the price of the Pokemon cards to be a hilarious joke. I don’t quite get it… nevermind.

I’m going to go as I’ve had too much coffee again and am losing concentration capability. At least I have, for once, written more than one paragraph. Go me. I’m such a trooper. My mum would be so proud if she was alive today. Which she is. Unless she died in the night and I haven’t been informed yet…. I think I’ll call…

Uncle Tom, live from his Cabin

xxx