widg‧et /ˈwɪdʒɪt/ [wij-it] -noun: Pointless ramblings from the New Forest. Obviously complete & utter Rubbish. Why must I contibute to all this endless talk about me? My self-indulgent knees, spilling themselves all over the internet. Obviously i am Jon and his hair, I AM HIM!

Monday, April 16, 2007

Master Of Thumbs

Had I realised that even more tasty events were in store for me at work on Friday night, my previous entry may have taken on a whole new scatty dimension.


It all began with a bored policeman, popping in to tell us that he had seen an amusement of little children filled with booze-juice just half a mile away, but the next time he looked they had cleverly hidden their precious liquid behind their minds. Quelle suprise. His job now complete, he shimmied out the door and left us to our fate.


A couple of hours later, while I was tending to the whims & fancies of the wine trolley, in walked a little fella I like to call 'Rat Face: The Next Generation'. He loaded his stunted arms up with a suspicious amount of brightly coloured alcohol, prompting a surreptitious dash to the scene of the unfolding crime around the corner. They they were: an annoyance of 300 screeching kids.




Rat Face 2's purchases were duly confiscated with minimal skirmish. We were followed back to our safe haven by two delightful young ladies, they declared that they required more lubrication, despite the fact that they still carried two illegal cans of finest lager. I courteously asked them to bugger off, but was told to take a chill pill, daddio.


On their way out they thought it would be great larks to snaffle a wine, and thusly they did. We gave chase to their mysterious & dark premises, behind the curry garden, the scene of many a hideous eye-bleeder. The barely concious thief was sat on the ground, babbling "Who are you? Did they see me nick it?"

ding-dinger-ding-dinger-ding-dingadinga-ding ding-dingdinga-ding-dingdingding

"Yes, I think you'll find we did!" said I, to the delight of no-one but me. With half the bottle already lost to the throat in the two minutes since it was stolen, I took the remaining evidence back to the shop, all the while being lightly assaulted by a small, blonde nine year-old. The police were duly called, but as per usual, were about as much use as an imaginary spoon.


At the after show party we were treated to the spectacle of broken spectacles, or glasses if you will; nearly broken glass, of the coffee table variety; a dinner stealing interloper, kindly offering it to other people, leaving trails of random debris & bath wee; Wii-boxing fun and the next exciting instalment of the lap dance saga.

Hurbpty-burptly-girdugirdy-blaaah-bla-bla-bla-laa-laa Bee-Ay-eN-Ay-eN-Ay-eS

Currently listening: This Nation's Saving Grace by The Fall


Blogger Jennie-Dee said...

You might just be the oddest person I will ever meet.


1:45 pm


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