Shenanigans

So, it's Monday morning, the sun has gone, replaced instantly with its wet, grey, moody bastard of a cousin. That's definitely the shortest summer I remember. When I was a kid, summer never had a drop of rain and lasted for at least 9 months of the year. Nowadays we're lucky if we get a week without a downpour. I keep having to take an umbrella and sunglasses to work - that's not normal. I don't like it. At one point, I was using both at once on a walk home. It nearly melted my brain.

So what happened over the weekend? Good question. Friday was probably the last barbecue of this short summer, but was thoroughly lovely. Except I was still in a bit of a mood at myself because whilst buying said BBQ paraphernalia at Asda, using one of those self-serve little fuckers, I managed to leave £20 cashback sticking out of it and just walk away, making the meat considerably more expensive. Woops. The worst bit of that was that I saw someone in front of me do the exact same thing and it didn't affect anything. I still left it there. I think it was karma, because I was fully prepared to take that girl's tenner. I wanted it. But then she came back, and I left my money as comeuppance for being a money-grabbing bastard. The best bit was explaining it to Steve, and my subsequent realisation. I'll act it out for you, you know, textually:

"I nearly got a free tenner just then"
"Oh right nice how?"
"This girl in front of me left her cashback but then came back just as I was about to take it and OH FUCK I DID IT MYSELF AND LEFT TWENTY!"

Yeah. I'm a dickhead. Oh well :)

That opening ceremony malarkey was alright really, wasn't it? Quite impressive actually. All the talk of real fields, real sheep and a story being told just sounded like hot air mixed with bullshit - a hellish concoction - but actually, that Boyle lad did it again. No, not Frankie. I think the bit with The Queen might have been a little different had Frankie Boyle been allowed free reign over the ceremony.

My favourite bit had to be the Industrial Revolution section - that was class. The towers, then the casting of the Olympic rings and their ascent into the air before raining down a golden shower upon those below. Ahem. Well that's what it was! It was a shower, and it was gold, right? So stop complaining. That was in your head! Dirty, dirty reader...

Moving on...and Saturday morning means chimnea shopping, as is customary. We in Britain ritualistically get up early every Saturday morning and go shopping for chimneas or chimnea supplies. It's just the way we were raised. Yeah Steve wanted to get one for his mum and had heard about a place that did just lovely ones. They did not. They did shit ones. We left. But not before I'd bought myself some devil bangers and rizla.

A pub lunch later and we're on our way to Big Bad Brum to watch The Dark Knight Rises on their "Giant Screen" - basically an IMAX. That was rather lovely. I'll tell you what, that screen isn't small. I won't go into the film's specifics, though I would like to, because, you know, spoilers! Maybe I'll dedicate another post to it later in the week. We'll see how bored I get. For now I'll leave it at "it's really good".

Saturday night was then to be spent drinking with the guys that accompanied us to the cinema, plus a few of their friends. This was fine, except I didn't really know anybody and they were all talking about shared memories and people they all knew etc. So I just sort of stood. Yeah, like a boss. It was fine, but you know that situation is just horrible when you're in it, though you don't blame anyone. And I wasn't really feeling the night anyway, then being outskirted (yep, just made that up and it rocks) just makes you worse, and I was all quiet and sulky for most of the evening.

It wasn't too bad though, the lads were nice, and when we had moments we could share, it was great. I told them my HILARIOUS story about being groped by a man, and they laughed, but the funniest moment of the night came when Steve bought us all sambucas and, upon knocking his back, just instantly threw it back up again, including his previous pint. It was just nonchalant though, it didn't knock him off his stride. He hadn't felt sick before, or after, or even during, really. It just hit his stomach, the stomach said no, and it came back. On the floor, in the beer garden of Heroes. Classy, real classy. Funny as fuck though, especially when he realised nobody has noticed, so just sachéd to the other side of the table and continued his evening.

Ermmmmm so Sunday was spent in bed, mostly. Then in the pub. Because that's a healthy way to live. It was all Steve's fault, obviously. But six pints each and no food since the day before meant that the little skinny man couldn't handle any more and went home to go to bed. At 7pm. Yeah, we're suave! It was a nice day in the sunshine with a few beers though, and I ended it with a fucking moosive chips and cheese with mayo, which made my waistline cry but I'm pretty sure my tongue had an orgasm.

I think thay might sum up the weekend - I'll have a think and see what else I may have missed for next time. If anyone wants to suggest anything they'd like to read me rant about, get in touch. Otherwise, I'll speak to you soon, so you can go away now. Go, live your life. Don't let me hold you back. You're capable of great things. Let yourself be open to them! And other nonsensical motivational-poster bullshit. Bye!