I've been so busy of late Thursday = out drinking. Friday = drinking at Claire and Tim's flat. Saturday = crawled home from Claire and Tim's flat. Sunday = ice hockey. Monday = out drinking. Tuesday - out drinking. This whole social life malarky is hard work; if I sat down for five minutes my arse would think I have died.
Right, before I became in demand I promised an entertaining episode, but I have lost track where I was, so I shall just re-cap . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ah yes, my most awkward dining experience (since I regailed all with the second-most awkward one in my last blog).
Let's go back-a-ways to mid-2010, when I lived in Durham (its near Newcastle - no one ever knows where it is) and worked at the County Council. Me and my friends had just left for lunch, and I was at the back of the little group of us. With a cup of tea in one hand and a hot soup and a roll in the other, it was a struggle enough to hand over the money to the Geordie lady who every day would mock me for saying 'scone' as 'scone'. However, things took a rather dramatic turn for the worst; with both hands full of very hot contents in flimsy containers, for some inexplicable reason the button of my work trousers simply decided to fly off (they weren't even tight!). Unfortunately, this was the only day I didn't wear a belt to work . . . . even more unfortunately, it corresponded with the day I was wearing fluorescent pink boxer shorts . . . .
So there I was, both hands full of hazardous substances, a pink beam emitting from my broken trousers beaming around the canteen full of roughly two-hundred people, desperately trying to keep the majority of my trousers up using only my knees. So, with my dignity in tatters, I walked like a Thunderbird with a few tangled strings towards the table my friends were sat at, only to be greeted with a unified shaking of heads, and a silence only broken by my boss muttering 'typical le Silk'.
. . . . . I wish I was cool, just for a day.
That's another thing; le Silk! For some reason which makes no earthly sense, my friends always think I'm a ladies man. Hah! Duuuuuude, in my 24 years on this planet, I have had two serious girlfriends, and they can be described as 'dysfunctional' at best and just "what-the-fudgery" at worst. Worst still is that I always get asked relationship advice . . . really? Me? I'm hardly equipped to deal with such things. Its the equivalent of asking a . . . well I am too tired and recoupering from a five-day drinking session to invent a witty comparison, but be aware that my heart is in the right place. As such, I am convinced that this theory of me being a ladies man is all based simply on the fact that I have a sleazy sounding surname (which links into the whole 'le Silk' thing, ya get me?).
For example, when you hear the word 'silk', there is one of three things you immediately associate with it;
1) Silk Cut cigarettes (and let's be honest, everyone instantly becomes far more attractive if they smoke . . . well, maybe not everyone. Deirdre Barlow is an exception to this theory.)
2) Silk worms (worms being rather phallic.)
3) . . . . erm, just lingerie.
So there we have it!
Another vicious lie is that I have a 'thing for red-heads' - now that's just false . . . . okay, let's see. My first girlfriend was Jackie (y'know the type; the secondary school girlfriend that as soon as you are 'in a relationship with' you can't be seen with, spend time together or speak to . . . but they are your girlfriend) and she had red hair. First year of college was the whole Cat thing, who happened to have reddish/pinky hair. Following that came Grace, who was undeniably ginger (but would attack me if I mentioned that she was ginger), and when I met Poppy she had a reddish hue to her hair . . . . . . . okay, that looks like it might in fact be true.
Erm, I think I am all rambled out for now, or simply too tired. Anyway, the jist of my story is, there are dragons terrorising Skyrim that I medically need to turn into a rug . . . might need to get an extension on my house in Whiterun to accomodate a dragon-skin rug, but as the saying goes, 'meh!'
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