Big date ruined by dog egg...

This week has not been one of my best.

I had a date tonight. HAD being the operative word.

I've been looking forward to this day all week and was as excited as a puppy and little else has managed to find purchase in my mind.

A girl from my past, actually tracked me down and wanted to see me again (well there's no accounting for taste) and I for one want nothing more than that we should meet up again.

We have been in almost constant text coms since she found me and when on line and she's not busy working or wrangling two 9 year old dynamos, we email and IM till all hours. That usually ends by me reminding her that she has work in the morning and two young lads to look after. So it's unsurprising that I get the blame for her feeling tired the next day. Some things never change.

Anyway to get to the meeting point she had decided on I had to get two buses, I wont/don't drive (too many loons already on the roads of this fine country), this is going to take a pair or even three hours to get there, what with stops and waiting the 45 mis for the next bus.
I get off the first bus near the depot and walk the rest of the way, making my way to the correct stop for the next leg of my journey. I'd been into town with little sis (she's come up for the week) doing a spot of shopping and finding out what bus I need and to find out where it runs from and to get a time table.

I'm half way from the stop I got off at and the depot, in front of the market, I have a spring in my step and thoughts of rekindling an old relationship. Tonight IS my night.

WRONG!!!

The biggest, over moist, dog egg ruins my night beyond recovery.
There is so much of it and it's so moist that I do what a motorist would call "aqua plaining", thanks in part to these big feet of mine. I remain on my feet (just) and retain my dignity.

At first I think it is a carelessly discarded baked potato, as there is a "spud-u-like" stand that operates during the day quite near to the spot where I slipped. But there is little breeze and the crust had been broken. Oh gods, the smell!!
Just what was the dog that could do this? An Irish wolfhound that has just cleared a two week blockage? A great Dane perhaps, one in more dire need of help than any other dog in the world.

It's been dry in this country for a few days now (I smell more than au de dog cronk here this is fate pissing me about), so the one thing I really need right now is a puddle, even a little one would do! Bloody hell you can't move for the bloody things in this place most of the time. But no, not tonight, Merde!
I scrape as much as I can off the sole of my trainers, but it's not enough, no where near enough. Every bit of tread and some of the side has a generous helping of date destroying, evil smelling brown horridness!!

DEATH TO LAZY DOG OWNERS!!!!
NAIL 'EM UP I SAY!!
NAIL SOME SENSE INTO 'EM!!!

I text Tracy and say I have to go home and scrub this shit off (pun intended), she is far from pleased. I'd even go so far as to say she wont speak to me again (well let's hope it's less that 17 years). She's as mad as hell. She's ignoring my texts and she's not on line. Damn.

What was I supposed to do? Just get on the bus and stink the whole place out? No.
It was bad enough that thanks to my new cologne, I had to stay out side in the freezing night waiting for the bus back home. Let's face it, no taxi would let me in.
I could have continued the journey and met with Tracy, I could have just waved a hand airily at her crunched up, pong assailed face and said, "You get used to it after the first hour or so and I'm sure none of the other patrons have noticed."

No best to go home and scrub with hot water, detergent and bleach.
Then irradiate my hands.


So thanks to Digby my date is ruined.


But the fun doesn't stop there, oh no.
At the depot, waiting for the same bus as me it would seem, are three people quite the worse for drink. Normally that's not a problem for me, I've been in that condition myself on many an occasion (and trust me after I finish this I'll be in a similar state). No, the problem I have is that two of them are in their 60's and should know better and the other is my age and should know better.
I'm in the world of iPod and can't hear what they're saying to everyone who'll listen, I don't have to be, they're being obnoxious and rude to all and sundry and I'm sure they directed a few comments at me, so what.
The old bloke has a full head of wavy dirty, greasy grey hair. His clothing is in a similar state and his nose was that of a bad fighter, a brawler. An old fool beyond help.
With him was his moll and I'm not going to describe her other than to say, if it wasn't for the snide expression on her old face and the filthy clothes she wore she could have fitted in to any sewing circle (see, I avoided saying knitting circle there, don't want to upset too many peeps tonight).
The younger fella looked a bit of the "Jack the lad" (in his youth) and only an over inflated opinion of himself and his ability plus all the booze could excuse him.

The bus arrives and I'm the last to board and I decide to sit close to the three drunks, I figure that when people start to smell the cronk they'll figure it must be one of the drunks who has stepped in something. Not the freshly shaved headed, goatee wearing, freshly buffed and product wearing stallion of a man sitting behind them, who is dressed all in black and is looking ABFAB, but who unbeknownst to them has recently trod in a dog pat.

We trundle along, the drunks wind everyone up and I sit and listen to some choice tunes. I'm looking out of the window at the world going by, it's cold, it's dark and it's dry and it's also taking me in the wrong direction, but I have to go home to scrub.
We stop at some traffic lights and I see a billboard with a huge poster sponsored by the stonewall peeps and bears the legend "Some people are gay." "Get over it." It's done in black and white writing on a red background.
Drunk Neanderthal number 3 sees the poster and thinks it's funny, then eggs on old drunk Neanderthal saying something I can't hear, thanks to my music, but I do see the thumb gesture and know I'll be spoken at any second, by a pissed old fool who should know better. I't's not long in coming. Said fool asks his question, I don't hear it as I still have my ears in and I don't care what this sad worthless dickhead has to say, but in deference to his age I pull out an ear and ask him to repeat his question, he asks "Are you gay?" thinking it to be on a par with Oscar Wilde. He and his chums all giggle as I lean in and say "No" and replace my ear, they stop giggling and talk amongst themselves, upset. I don't care.

My stop. As I get up to leave there is a lull in the music and I look down at the old guys hands, they're covered in the worst tats I've ever seen, not just because they're all old and almost illegible but because there's loads of them and they're all shit and football related,indicating we have in our midst a aged football hooligan, am I supposed to be impressed? Anyway the old bag with them sees me looking and tries to stir it up and says (thru the lull in sounds) that I'd just given him a dirty look and that they should do something about it. They don't of course. But I'm so pissed off about the way my nights gone and the fact that I've let Tracy down I almost wished the two blokes had tried something, because I was in the mood for some pressure release and I could have at least bitten that spud of a nose that old idiot had and pulled out the rings the younger fool has in his ears and nose.

No. I get to go home and scrub brown unpleasantness from the soles of my trainers.


Oh and before I go get good and tight, two days ago my washing machine died.

What's next I wonder? Troubles come in threes.


Have a better one than mine


TTFN