Saturday, October 14, 2006


Not a good week, really. Wheeled myself down to the pub yesterday evening, as it's usually grab-a-granny night down there on a Friday. Even managed to pull a half-decent 62 year-old, who offered to push me back to my place.

We got home and things started to hot up, but when I got my kecks off, and she saw the stump, she muttered something about having sobered up now, and asked me to call her a taxi. Maybe I'll have to join one of those clubs for amputees that Geoff in the Vice Squad used to bang on about.

It's been like that all week. The bloke next door's been getting on my quince, playing his awful music at full tilt all night with the windows open, so I thought I'd give the council's new 24-hour Anti-Social Behaviour Line a try. Trouble is, it's not 24-hour, all you get at 11pm is a recorded message asking you to leave your details, which I did. Two days later, nothing, so I rang them again during the day.

They took my details (again), and said an officer would call me back that afternoon. Since when, nix.

Oh well, I think I'll console myself by renting one of those DVDs you need a box of Kleenex for. And I'm not talking about a weepie.


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