Driving into Stone town centre there appeared to be a high proliferation of New Years Resolution joggers out on the streets. Annoying self-righteous f*ckers, I nearly ran them over like a semi-rural game of Grand Theft Auto. The only comfort is that the novelty will have faded long before January is out and they'll be back in front of 'Something for the Week-end' with their mid-morning fry-up, their foolish exertion a dim and distant memory.
It always annoys me that the Co-op never seem to have a copy of The Observer irrespective of the time of morning I go on a Sunday, yet they have a previously unseen value-pack which pairs the Sunday Express and the Daily Star Sunday together; not exactly expected newspaper bedfellows- 'tits & trash' and 'the right-wing Daily Mail lite'. Obviously it must be a Co-op exclusive as I've never seen it elsewhere; the word exclusive gives the impression of quality, desirability and limited supply (hopefully), not this paired pap featuring a festival of baps, scare mongering and celebratory tittle-tattle.
Knowing EJT remained in bed (no text to announce she had risen from her slumber) I bobbed into Costa and because it was a nice dry day I made the most and sat outside. And that was my mistake ...
Rather than allowing me a peaceful half hour, sitting in the fresh crisp winter air and sun with a cappuccino and newspaper, an arguing middle aged couple (and their excitable dog) joined me at the next table whose disagreement rapidly turned to fisty-cuffs (she against him) Any episode of domestic violence can really put you off your mid-morning beverage and distract you from your reading.
This alone would have been band enough if we hadn't then been joined outside by a large noisy family pausing during their morning cycle ride to grab a drink (obviously they wanted to keep an eye on their bicycles) Understandably they were giddy with excitement at being out together (boisterous perhaps?) and that was lovely, but why did they feel it necessary to give their toddler teaspoons to play with. And the game he decided to play was 'throw the spoons on the floor' … and they kept picking them up and placing them back on his highchair … and he kept throwing them on the floor again. And the cycle went on … and on … and on … and on .. and on!!!
“JUST STOP GIVING HIM THE F'ING SPOONS!”
Waring couple. Over-friendly dog.
Screeching children. Clanging spoons.
None of which provided a conducive environment for a restful morning and I returned home more wound-up than when I left the house!
Screeching children. Clanging spoons.
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