Throw a Party, it’s bloggy-thing #200
Goodness me, can you believe it, it’s bloggy-thing #200 so we’re going to celebrate in real style: a story about buses. Calm oneself, waft your betroubled brow with a pizza house menu. What’s that, you haven’t got a pizza house menu? Hold on I’m moving to your neck of the woods as I’m almost buried in the darned things! Who eats all those pizzas. I most certainly don’t and I don’t think anyone else does either. It does explain the collapse of the great Fish and Chip Industry though, a total lack of advertising. I don’t recall a single Fish and Chip menu bothering my letter box but then again a menu with only two items (Fish and Chips) would be somewhat wasteful on the old paper resources, wouldn’t it? Where were we, buses.
And another flipping thing whilst we trawl the entirely missable story of pizza, where do they come from? Italy, so why are all these pizza places owned, staffed and owned and staffed by anything but Italians. Turks, Greeks, Iranians, Lebanoners, people from Workington and even Norwegians. Not an Italian in sight, not in the retail world of pizza. And spotty young chaps with a bad taste in trousers and awfully loud cars. What the blue buggery is it all about? If you went in a chip shop and were not greeted by a over-sized lady wearing a lab-coat, you’d be out of there like a Jack Russell chasing sheep. Or rabbits. Or a ball. Or a stick. Buses, yes.
Being a frequent traveller on the individual members of a fleet of motor-coaches that criss-cross this fine place, one becomes accustomed to ones fellow travellers. And lady travellers too but that sentence would have looked wrong. Entirely. And now I sound all sexist. Hang on I’ll start again: Being a frequent traveller on the individual members of a fleet of motor-coaches that criss-cross this fine place, one becomes accustomed to other travellers. That’s better. Oh and dogs. And cats. I recall seeing a rabbit on a bus one time. One of those with floppy ears, I think it was going to see the vet because that was what the floppy eared rabbit’s owner was rabbiting on about. That very poor joke was for free and quite rightly so. This bloggy-thing #200 is becoming over-run with rabbits rather like Australia. And toads that are poisoning all the other animals. It’s true, look it up on the internet.
Buses. Yes, well you see, when you travel on buses you have to wait at bus stops. Well you don’t have to but it would rather defeat the object if you stood in your kitchen waiting for a bus. Unless your kitchen is a bus stop which I very much doubt. There may be a bus stop outside your kitchen but your kitchen is not the bus stop, so stop being bloody pedantic. Alright, your kitchen is a bus stop can we now move on. No, I refuse to accept that your upstairs toilet is a bus stop even for flipping double deckers. Oooh, I like a Double Decker, they’re just the job. Lovely chocolate and a very tasty interior. Unlike Melvyn Hayes: get on board, get on board, when you ride with Double Deckers. See what you’ve done now, I’ve gone off at a tangent and I’ve got an interesting story about a bus stop. You see, I was stood at the bus stop this morning, waiting for a bus strangely enough, and this chap started talking to me. He happened to mention that he used to live in Southend. Of itself, that is of little interest. Many people live or have lived in Southend at some point, but what made the chat a little more interesting was this chap’s story about Pernod. It seems that one night he went out on the razz and drank a lot of said Pernod. He awoke in the morning to find that the meat of his meat and two veg was the size of a tennis ball and he got signed off work for a couple of days. So if you want a couple of days off work, drink a lot of Pernod. Make sure your insurance is up to date though and that there’s enough in your account to pay for a decent send off because it could, as my wee pal Raiph would say, all go horribly rang!!