Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays...

I'll tell you why. Because we've had two days away from work where we can be ourselves, spend our time the way we want to and enjoy life in the way we're supposed to. But then Monday is usually the day where that freedom is wrested off us for another five days. So we begrudge our lives, our boss, the place we work until Wednesday when we get used to it again, then back to Friday. Those of us who work with people their own age, with similar tastes and habits, who go to the same places, are so lucky. I don't, nobody i work with is under 35, they've all got partners, houses, cars, children, pets, holiday homes, caravans, etc. It doesn't mean anything to me. I wanna talk about films and TV and girls and music and getting wasted at the weekend, not holidays and moving house and D.I.Y. And i wonder why i feel i don't fit in....

Since Saturday morning i have been house-sitting for my parents. What fun, you might think?! But, not really, no. I'm even more paranoid about making a mess or ruining the furniture than i am about my own house, or indeed than when i lived at home. Hang on, is anyone actually reading this....? Because i'm certainly writing as if they were, what if no one ever reads it except me? Well at least it'll help me remember what i do in my life!

On Saturday i went shopping, (i can think of no more unhealthy way to spend ones leisure time) for some more trousers for work. I am wearing them now. They're very smart kinda ribbed black trousers, I'm not sure they 'go' with my shoes but then i've always been wary of Black clothes Brown shoes, Oh well! F**k It! After going shopping my friend (of many, many years) Simon and I got the bus into Selby. We went to a few of the pubs we usually do, had about four pints before getting back on the bus and heading back to my parents village. Where we set about getting some food. Whilst i was rooting fruitlessly in the freezer and fridge, Simon found a takeaway leaflet then found the set meal for two, i then found the phone...

They charged us delivery! Hah! My village is like two miles away, cheeky slags. It was very nice though. We then went to my lifetime local - The Forresters Arms. By any pub standards it's dire. But as i explained to my friend (and housemate) Luke, it's where i learnt the rules of getting wankered and pub etiquette. Now pub etiquette is a new thing t y'all i'm sure, it was to me until i gave it form and said the words (whilst drunk) on Saturday night. Where did you spend your formative years getting drunk? Clearly mine were spent in my local, which means i am a sad old git. Always have been always will be. (The way Freud believes we're formed by our formative experiences) Let me elaborate...

My early years in pubs were spent testing the water. (Not literally) You sat there quietly sipping your first/second/third pint, i didn't really like beer (still don't a great deal, except on hot days when the condensation's running down the side of the glass, mmm....), but you drank it all the same. Safe in the knowledge it would make you a man. You sat, scared to death of the bigger young people who you were scared of through school, but who look at you different now you're in a pub. You tried not to offend anyone, you didn't talk at the top of your voice about shagging and fighting, you didn't sit perched on a bar stool, getting slowly lower until the bar met your head or time was called. You just got drunk really, really fast.

Hang on. I really should do some work...