I was thinking of starting out this blog by attempting to do some fish puns, just for the halibut. Sadly, after coming up with the predictable ones such as: 'oh my cod' and 'calling all carps', I began to flounder.
So there I was on the number 18 bus heading from the wilds of Leek, (the 'Queen of the Moorlands'), to the great city of Stoke on Trent, (pottery capital of the world and a major producer of the legendary Staffordshire oatcake). Little did I realise that upon boarding the bus that I would suddenly think how much I missed having a car. Yes indeed, on the number 18 bus was a group of folks who I believe may have been guests on the Jeremy Kyle Show, (Britain's answer to Jerry Springer?).
Screaming obnoxious kids, rude, loud parents and people I assumed were the grandparents. Ah the grandparents, fine examples of how to use Anglo Saxon expletives in every mumbled sentence they exhaled from their big gobs. As I slumped into the only available seat left, I thought: "does life get any better than this?" Never have I been so glad to see the Potteries Centre and get the hell of that bus. But hey, I'm not complaining.
I've noticed a new kind of rudeness in today's modern, technological society. When someone comes to visit me, I think that is very nice, I appreciate the company. Nothing like a good old 'chin wag' as we discuss such things like the meaning of life and more important topics like who will win the Premiership this season. Yes it is so nice to have a chat. Some positive interaction. So when my visitor's mobile phone (cell phone) rings, why do they suddenly forget they have come to visit me? Why do they think it is alright to ignore me in my own home and have a conversation with someone else for 3o flippin' minutes? Why, for that matter, is the exchange of text messages so vital that it can't wait until they have finished visiting me? What the heck is that all about? But hey, I'm not complaining.
It's a few minutes before the grocery shop closes. I wander over to the reduced section in hopes of being able to grab a bargain. Before me lies a barricade of trolleys that have been stategically placed by a group of people who are determined to take the lot. If there are 30 packages of cheese, regular price £1.99, reduced to 9 pence, they make sure all of it goes into their trolleys. You see, they work in teams, a well-drilled precision unit that will not allow the likes of me anywhere near the reduced food. So they clear the lot, with the exception of the 9 pence tub of cottage cheese with chives. I gratefully grab the tub as I watch them drive off in their brand new Jaguars. But hey, I'm not complaining.
I now leave you with another collection of random thoughts and observations. If A.C. Milan played D.C. United of Major League Soccer, would the atmosphere be electric? Why is it called the 'Mile High Club'? I would have thought at 5280 feet, the pilot would still have the 'fasten seatbelt' sign on. No stopping some folks, I guess. I've heard a rumour that there is going to be a new social network site called : 'My Spacebook', where people go online and chat about their collection of books about space. And finally... I'm very disappointed with the Marcel Marceau C.D. I recently purchased. And finally..definitely..the future has arrived..computers are blaming it on human error. But hey, I'm not complaining.