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I thought that might grab your attention. Sadly, it’s not a post about itchy bottoms (either mine or yours), but about th type of bum you might find in a shop doorway, or on a park bench. Tramps. Dropouts. Whatever you want to call them wherever you live.
That ‘itching’ thing they do. I was watching one of them the other day and was intruiged. There he was, yapping away to some woman who just happened to be stood near him. All the while, scratching away at himself. Lot’s. Non-stop, in fact. The woman carried on chatting to him (nice woman) as if there was nothing wrong.
But just watching him was making ME itch too.
And it got me wondering what he was infested with that could make him itch THAT much!
*claws at self*
Maybe instead of all those ’street wardens’ that appear to be springing up everywhere, we should have teams of ‘dippers’ on the streets to hose down the itchy bums.
Facebook is making major changes to its privacy settings – giving you the opportunity to share your personal information with “everyone” on the internet.
But is that wise? More information at www.sophos.com
Last night, I dreamed that Beyonce had committed suicide and that it was all over the news.
How odd.
A real shame.
Especially since the British banks that were bailed out by the UK taxpayer lent the money to a U.S company to take over a British company, then inflict massive job cuts on the employees.
Fucking fantastic, eh?
Only the bankers ever win.
Well we’re certainly glad that’s all over now. 2009 has to rate as one of the worst ever years for a multitude of reasons – none of which are worthy of mentioning here. Just accept that it was and look forward to what will – hopefully – turn out to be a grand and fabulous 2010.
Speaking of the end of the year, we spent it in Bonnie Scotland – charmed on New Years Eve by the natives of Glasgow and irritated beyond belief by the hordes of tourists in Edinburgh on New Years Day. So much irritation in Edinburgh that we cut short our visit and returned to Glasgow once again – just in time to go out for a well deserved dinner.
Glasgow itself was very interesting. The city has made enormous efforts to modernise and everything – from the shopping area’s to the architecture – was a treat for the eyes. Reflected in the general attitude of the population too, we might add. Almost everywhere we went, we were greeted by a cheery ‘Hello!’, a smile and good wishes for the forthcoming year. We accept the spirit of the season may have played a part in the overall cheer, but it didn’t feel like that was the only reason. It certainly felt that there was, despite the biting cold, a ‘good feeling’ about the city.
New Years Eve, or Hogmanay, was fab! ~Initially intending to hop between a couple of different pubs/bars, we ended up spending the entire evening in just one location – such was the friendliness on show. Despite the pub being full of obvious ‘regulars’, the bar staff and the other customers went out of their way to chat with us and make us welcome – their fate was sealed and we refused to budge once they started handing out boxes of chocolates halfway through the night!
We did our usual – lining up pint after pint of Guinness. No sooner had we finished one than another was presented. Tazzy being Tazzy made sure that none of his went to waste. Me being me, I was a little less thirsty, although only one or two drinks behind him.
Approaching the midnight hour and the sound of the bells, I decided it was time to train Tazzy – starting first with large measures of Jack Daniels then – at the stroke of midnight – large measures of Glenmorangie single malt whisky. I was too drunk by this point to remember to take a photo as he downed the whisky. Just trust me, his face really was a picture!
Later, back at the hotel (and by this time we reached it, with freezing cold Big Mac and cold fries), it was munching time before laughter, tickles, more New Year wishes and, finally, sleep.
At around 3am, I woke up in desperate need of a pee. Jumped out of bed and staggered towards the door for the bathroom. Managed to get through the door and as I heard the ‘click!‘ behind me, suddenly realised I’d gone through the wrong door – not the bathroom door at all, but through the door leading out into the corridor.
… Naked.
Yes, completely stark bollock naked.
I can’t describe the panic I felt! Suffice to say that I became instantly sober. In my confusion, I went wandering along the corridor in search of something – I didn’t know what – just something that would enable me to get back into the room before being seen.
Then I heard a sound that filled me with dread…. ‘Ding!’… the sound of the elevator. As the elevator door opened, I caught a fleeting glimpse of at least two people. I spun on my bare heels and ran back along the corridor, praying that they didn’t walk in the same direction. Thankfully, they didn’t. But I did wonder if they’d seen me – my guess is that if I saw them, then they surely must have seen me?
Back at the hotel room door, I banged, walloped, shouted and almost kicked the door in for almost 15 minutes in a desperate attempt to wake Tazzy, who I could hear snoring inside. My mind raced – what if I had to get the elevator down to reception? What if I’d been seen on the CCTV? Oh dear gawd.
Finally – almost 15 minutes later – Tazzy woke and appeared at the door. The look on his face was amazing as he wondered what on earth was going on. Showing no concern whatsoever, he then proceeded to laugh like a lunatic.
An experience I will certainly never forget. And whenever we stay in an hotel again, I’ll make sure I’m wearing at least a pair of boxer shorts in bed.