Blimey, what the hellfuck has happened to Blogger? I'm all for progress, but stop pissing around with settings that make it near impossible to add images and then type text around them. I don't want a caption, I just want to waffle unimpeded.
Living with other people requires patience. Sometimes loads of it. I'm not sure if I've gained the ability to prolong the amount I have or if age has just taught me to not give a fuck. However, there are some things that do still grate. Like when you go for a much needed sit down (that's not a typo) and you're faced with this...
Really, just how difficult is it to replace the toilet roll? 2 and a half sheets just isn't enough for anyone to do anything with.
On a slightly different track, there's a myth that needs to be addressed. Washing machines. It's often said that they 'eat' socks. This, as we all know, is utter tosh. They do however manage to morph all left socks into right ones. I've still got the same number of socks, they just all now belong to one foot. It's doubly frustrating as I've got 2 left feet.
Even more frustrating than that though is when you've put the washing on, then stand up and see this...
Especially when it turns out to be the only right footed sock you've got left. Right? I'm still undecided on how bad my OCD has to get before I can justify putting on one clean and one dirty sock so that they're a pair.
Women really have it easy in public toilets. You always get your nice little cubicles, there's privacy, mostly always soap and maybe even flowers. If there's wee on the seat then you just wipe it off (unless one of my housemates has been in there prior that is, then you have to do the pass under manoeuvre). Blokes are a whole bunch more minging. I won't describe what the cubicles are normally like, but suffice to say you'd need a 12 pack of Andrex, some industrial bleach, a cordless drill and fireproof gloves before I'd entertain the idea of sitting down in one. Urinals are a whole different ball game. On the whole you're either given the solitary hole in the wall or a trough. But there's always the reassurance of that blank white wall right in front of your face. If you're really lucky, you might get a poster to read. Over and over. But on New Years Eve I was faced with this....
Basically, a big mixing bowl in the middle of the room, with pointless dividers. You're pissing round a post. And instead of an advert for Scooterman to look at, there's the person opposite. Or at a really awkward angle to the side of you. Admittedly, the faces of guys when having a leak aren't the gurning ones you would get when going for a sit down, but I still don't want to make eye contact with someone when we're doing the do. "Hi, I'm The Author of this and I'm holding my wang. I see you're holding yours too. It's nice that we have something in common for the next few minutes". Pass, thanks.
Working outside on properties isn't the most favourite part of my job, unless it's bloody hot. If you're at street level then every morning you have to go through the motions of sweeping up all the rubbish people are too lazy to put in bins. Namely fag butts (a lovely phrase if you're an American/Canadian), beer cans, bottles, tissues, crisp packets or fast food boxes. But the other day I found this....
It certainly wasn't there when I put the tin on the cill, I would've noticed. And to make it all a little more bizarre, it had appeared while I was outside working. So some chocolate muncher had passed by and thrown it over the wall when I was there. Really, who does that?! From what I could see it hadn't been used (unless the person responsible was running on empty). But what the hell? I guess it's another one to add to the list.
