Been cleaning today whilst singing along to Christmas music. I cranked up the volume for ‘Baby it’s cold outside‘ and stuck a finger up at the #MeToo brigade who have banned it from the airwaves for its allegedly ‘rapey’ undertones. If the lass wanted to leave, she’d have gone home. She wanted to stay and have another drink and maybe a bit of the other. He wasn’t pinning her down underneath the Christmas Tree and trying to get his fingers in her tights FFS!
I then turned the music off to show some respect when the funeral cars for my recently deceased next door neighbour arrived. Poor bugger has been bed bound for I reckon about 2 years now. In his 80s bless him. Lovely man. Bman went round there recently and then came home saying he couldn’t think of anything to say to him and ended up coming out with, “try hang on in there til Christmas eh?” FFS!
Don’t bother with all that black hearse and dark suits carry on when I snuff it (which could be any time now, in 2 weeks time I’ll be 47!) Forty fucking Seven? How? Why do I still feel and act like a 17-year-old? – until I see my refelection then I just sigh.
Just chuck me in a dumpster when I’m dead and have a party. Bloody price of funerals is astronomical anyway. I’ve never spent more than £50 on a coat in my life so no point blowing the budget on a wooden box I won’t even feel the benefit of. Stick me in the composting bin with the cat shit and leaves and spend the real money on gin and Es.
Going to pay respects of a different kind tomorrow evening. A farewell send off for a colleague who has recently tunneled out of Auschwitz to begin a new life elsewhere. I found out today that this is to be a double whammy of farewells and good lucks.
To all those that remain I’m just going to leave this here and say that when it says ‘corridor’, I read coop. Save yourself MoFos. Save yourself! There is life out there. It’s not as we know it, but it’s life…