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The long suffering blog of the Impossimal creators...

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I don’t get out much, that is always aparent when I try and do ‘normal’ things like fill the car or visit the bank. most people would take this in their stride but im getting incresingly confused by babble. by babble I mean the emotionless speech you get when you finish your shopping. In a well known shop that sells books, magazines and possibly top shelf rhythm pamphlets when you finish paying for your items the cashier will add ‘Would you like a Kitkat with that or maybe a Mars bar?” and sweep her hand enticingly over the counter and across the display.

Really, is this for all the brain dead fodder that cannot think for themselves? ‘Duh, er, come to think of it that’s what I was here in the first place for, duh…dribble’. It extends even further, recently we moved our car insurance only to be involved in a lengthy discussion about why, who with, how dare you, can I offer you, inside leg size and you get a free camel if you stay. It seems that these people try to baffle you into submission by talking endlessly so I tend to put my hearing and attention in limbo occasionally to cope.

Sigh, so imagine my massive no surprise yesterday when I stood in the queue to pay for petrol and after finishing the transaction was involved in yet another surreal episode only this time much worse.

‘That will be thirty two pounds and two pence’

Okay, I can forgive the ‘please’ when you are taking my money but really do you have to carry on talking to the lady in the opposite queue?

She carried on, ‘…and you know I never used to have curly hair, it’s them hore moans, as soon as them hore moans kicked in I woke up the next day with curly hair.’

‘Ooo I say, a similar thing happened to me, I went to bed one night and the next day my voice had dropped tone, I had sprouted a beard and my husband had to call me Bernard’ or words to that effect our queuing flaxen haired customer replied from beneath a striped tabard.

She pronounced it ‘Hore moans’, I nearly said is that when you don’t pay? but decided it was better to stay quiet and remain stunned that your hair can turn curly over night. Bet her husband was in for a shock, he went to bed with his wife’s perfectly straight hair and woke up to what looked like an explosion in a spring factory. I also declined to ask if the ‘hore moans’ had also coloured her hair black, green and pink.

Anyway her eyes glanced my way and I assumed that meant I have done with you little man, take your card.

‘Do you collect the pirate stickers?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Pirate stickers?’ She repeated only this time she tilted her head unattractively and blew a bit of the pink and black strands to one side. She had been eating cheese and onion crisps, not nice.

‘Why would I collect pirate stickers?’

‘We have to offer them to everyone, do you want your pirate stickers or not?’

‘Look at me, what use would I have for pirate stickers at my age? Oh, I know, I can stick them on my chopper bike and bedroom wall.’

‘Well if you don’t want them don’t you know somebody that does?’

‘Seriously? Why would I know collections of friends that trade pirate stickers? I’m in my mid-forties and more worried about lacking the eyesight to peel stickers and struggling with pickle jars.’

‘Just askin’

Then I had a fantastic thought, I could blog about them and display my pirate stickers on here, you never know I might get a offer of a trade and end up with a Blackbeard or something.

‘Go on, I feel lucky, give me my pirate sticker booty me hearty.’ I said rather smugly.

I grabbed my stickers and chortled away at my good fortune as I left, that was today’s blog entry in the bag, good old pirate stickers given out to adults, how crazy is that.

On hindsight I think my hearing could have been at fault, I may give the petrol station a wide berth for a few weeks…

Would you like fries with that?

 

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