Diary Diary 8th April 2014 A full day with my son...awesome we partake in bottle and bbc news, a peice comes on about IVF and there is a woman in her 40's who has 'done it to herself' (there words) her baby is with her and i cant help but compare her to my own, why is it some babys are born lovely and some look like hatching dinosaurs, at work recently i was reliably corrected by glum peacock that cornflake face's baby does NOT look like Gary Neville spliced with Michael Winner, all babies are born with the spirit of Henry VIII, they eat all the time, always need bigger clothes, have someone to wipe there arse and given the chance will latch onto any passing tit..although i dont personally know any babies who order beheadings it may happen in some countries, maybe thats how their adoption system works.

A Cynics Coffee Stop Excellent first impressions, every other linoleum wrapped table comes with a laptop and With the inital europhia i join my shuffling band of brothers awaiting service. The gleaming dome of devilish add ons is first up, is it 0.19p for the muffin and £3.00 for the word fabulous before it? My fleeting glance at the menu is now full blown ponder as my italian-english makeuptionary is at capacity, pressure mounts as the ticking time bomb of people in front is eroded by over enthusiastic smileatrons with a #life of bliss at minimum wage, Confidence is boosted when the man 3 doors down orders cappuccino at 2pm the notion of a breakfast drink lost in a long scarf and vertical jacket lapelles, the spotlight is now on, grande(ay) is the default winner based purely on pronunciation criteria, the order is screached and echoed through the 'technical' area just loud enough so pretentious couple number 3 can judge me. Finally the victor arrives in a cup with an eating disorder, thank f**k i didn't get the 'ventay', carrying my beverage using the egg and spoon walk the table is too close away and by the time my slow squat to the chair is complete i can't be bothered with the pigeon holed extras...

Chug Chug Chug Whilst walking through the 'to let' signs of my high street a bullseye appears on my face, a chugger has locked onto its prey...with its wide smile, tilted head and pleasantly visible vest it glides across the crazy paving, with mere steps between us i try the 'head down' dance fleetingly looking for another focal point "HI!! You look friendly!" i could have done anything to keep from being snared...faked a phonecall, turned around and walked in the nearest shop.. even force partial paralysis or a speech impediment, i opt for the effective manly gruff of "no thanks mate", failure, now i have a walking partner, a 4 second data burst later and my knowledge of the the three toed peruvian tree frog is improved upon, "no thanks mate", i lengthen my stride and lean in to cut off my piggybacking infomercial...ben hur style...SUCCESS! The dejected general studies student eases away but not before a final volley of "Well your ok mate, but think about the planet!".....yeah thats what i thought.

Prescription? The trip around the chemist was a short one, i located my socially akward product ensuring a visibly small surface area this is to nullify potential surprise greetings from family/friends or worse..work. Lurking by a fake interest in scholl im coiled...ready to spring towards the till at the mear sniff of an empty shop. From behind a formica turrett and nylon rugged moat the shop assistant guards the 'hard drugs'such as benadryl and nurofen with caffeine, she (why is it always she?) has the aging hairy lipped smile of a lost career in stage 1 typing and brightly dyed hair straight from the time of cholera. peering at me through her fatigued blue powdered eyes the portion of her brain assigned to tutting is beginning to spark into #life. Im gonna do it...shop empty? Check. Embarrassing product hidden under non essentials and a catalouge(who's future is the recycling) Check. im at the desk, i ceremoniously rise my hideous blue basket to checkout level when without warning purple chewbacca shouts "Julie!" and with a waft of avons finest, slopes off! Now i dont care whats in my basket im pissed...coughing, looking at my watch and sighing cant interrupt the national importance of discussing HRT side effects, i bring out the big cannon...staring...it was my best annoyed glare you can be assured but even this only draws a sly look and a glance between colleagues, i throw in a search of my wallett and hold out my bank card like im trying to signal a frigate...the mixture works as betty slocomes stunt double is reluctantly (and backwards?) my way, with the voice of a thousand fags"have you a prescription?" "No just these please" my politeness, embarrassment and dignity regained (a bit) and with the basket in place the disgruntled woman rings up my goods, the scanning of zebra print takes a millennia, it feels a bit like trips from my youth, All it needs now is a small bench covered in old people waiting for their doggy bag of pharmaceuticals so they can eat a banana every other thursday and we are done.

Bus Journey Upon alighting said bus I was greeted by a courteous smile. The driver has an ironically cheery demeanour and is in no way condescending as he grunts down his flared nostrils when I ask for a day 'thingy' giving me access to the tram and bus. A sarcastic sigh and an eye roll as the confirmation murmur of "4 paand" rippled through plexiglass, a stare which could cook eggs was flashed my way as I hastily swiped through my change prospecting for four gold nuggets. 'Chink Chink' as my poundage slapped the exchange tray and after a few sweaty jabs of the machine HEY PRESTO! A thermal transport ticket which easily wilts and deforms to the point of being unreadable at the mear hint of pocket humidity. Scanning...scanning....scanning...where to sit? After some quick leg room calculations incorporating a sub-routine of who may smell best (based on appearance) my seat is targeted and after the one hand swing...buttocks have met polyester. So yeah xx