The Great Escape

Dear Dobson,

In homage to your conjunctivitis situation at home, I have come up with a tenuous top five eye related songs:

1. The Man With The Gunk In His Eyes – Kate Bush
2. Can’t Take My Gunky Eyes Off You – Andy Williams
3. Them There Gunky Eyes – Billie Holiday
4. Gunky Bette Davis Eyes – Kim Carnes
5. Smoke Gets In Your Gunky Eyes – The Platters

It is good to have you back.  I’m sorry to hear you’ve been up against it, but pleased that blogging took preference over marking.  This should always be the case.

I was out whoring again last night – sorry, I mean dating – After an initial attempt to flee at around half-four and failing, I decided the only way to get through the rest of the evening was by consuming more wine than the self-absorbed bastard I was with.  I believe for every one glass he imbibed, I had three.  That ratio even impressed me.  Skillz.

So delusional was he, I believe he thought I was gazing across the table at him, giving him the big come on, little did he know I was actually in a self-induced coma by that point and every egotistical word leaving his lips sounded a bit like this:

I even called him a ‘pretentious twat’ but he failed to be insulted or offended by anything I said.  Earlier in the day I thought drinking pints and littering our conversation with the word ‘cunt’ would put him off.  It didn’t.  Perhaps I should have taken a leaf out of your book and ingested something toxic.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

I finally managed to escape around half-nine.  Never in my experience had the sight of the 381 bus pulling up at London Bridge brought such joy.  I was that happy I almost cried.

On arriving home, after pissing myself ten paces from my front door, a telephone conversation with my Nan turned out to be the most satisfying part of my day.  Pissing myself came a close second.

In other news I think my virus is finally abating.  I’ve been living on Nurofen Cold & Flu; a wonderful bit of medication but it literally dries you up from the inside out.  Everything has been so arid self-abuse has been nigh on impossible without the use of a decent lubricant.  I’ve discovered orange curd works well.

Frankie

PS.  Keep the Scando jersey faith comrade.  Tak.