…. use those bastard self-serve machines they have in supermarkets. I’ve never had such a harrowing experience in all of my life. It had not been a good day overall. It can’t have started any worse. Even before I’d started work, my steak and onion crisps got caught in the Vending Machine of Vengance. And the only Chicken sarnie they had in the sarnie machine was in some kind of foul “gourmet” bun, with strange seeds sprinkled over the top of them. Sigh, and Ewww.

The morning did not progress any better. I will not explain why I wonder if, in two years time, I’ll remember the “Twix flying across the office” incident. I hope not.

There was also the cleverest spider I’ve ever known…..

I was bored waiting for my Tesco Beef Madras to rotate itself to hotness, I’d noticed it on the wall. I knocked it off onto the windowsill. Instead of scuttling off to places unknown as usual, the crafty bastard acted as if it was dead. Legs curled up. I instantly got bored of it, and went back to give my madras a stir. A conversation was taking place in the kitchen between a couple of the IT staff which sickened even me, and that takes some doing, as you all know. So, I went out of the kitcken to find that the spider had scuttled off and hid near the join between the window and the windowsill.

Other work “highlights” were beating Richard at pool 3-0. You will note that there has been no mention of the fact he beat me 3-0 yesterday, though. And there will never be.

JTh got a text message explaining that Carlsberg 20x packs were £8 in Asda. Cor. I *had* to have some of that. Plans were made between me and Daddykins to visit said supermarket on the way home, and pick up beer.

This is where it all started going wrong. I sprinted to the beer aisle, dodgy trolley in hand, to pick up my ale. £8? that’ll diddly-do for me. I skidded down the beer aisle at a rate of knots, and stopped dead in my tracks, almost in tears, for what confronted me was not a pretty sight…

Yes, a completely empty section where the £8 beer used to be. The only thing to show that there was ever beer there is a little pricetag showing the RollBack symbol. To rub salt in the wounds, someone has left a 12-pack there, which is almost the same price as the 20-packs which once stood there. Utter bastards.

To console myself, I got a slightly more expensive pack of Carling. When I say slight, I actually mean “much”. Bastards. On the way round, I’d picked up two packs of buns in an unrelated bakery incident. This means that I had three things. This, I thought, would be the perfect opportunity to learn how to use the automated checkouts. There’s a first time for eveything, and it might as well be the last. I hover WobbleTrolley in the general direction of these checkouts, which, by the looks of them, were only designed for baskets. Not having a clue what to do, I pick up a pack of buns, and begin to scan them frantically. No beep. Uhhhh.

A nearby “assistant”, and I use the term very loosely, approaches, and shows me how to scan them, almost with a smug grin on her face, which resembled a female version the Cheshire Cat after she’s had a poo where no-one would ever expect to find it.

The second pack of buns eventually went through with a condescending “beep”, and I was left with the pack of beers. Oh, great. As I haul them out of the trolley, the “assistant” said something about “the side”. Side of what? Was she even taking to me? Fuck knows. I scan what I think is the barcode - a large one printed on the side of the box….. no joy. Mrs. Assistant, clearly enjoying my struggle, shouts “No, the Side, like I told you!”

She actually meant the thin edge of the box, which, to me is the top. It’s where it opens, therefore, it’s the top. Not the side, you complete fucking WITCH. Tell, you what, seeing as you’ve degraded me in front of the sodding buns AND beer, shall I nip over to the vegetable stand and fetch a leek so you can anally rape me with it, you nasty, make-up stained hag?

I didn’t actually say that, but if she’d have embarrased me in front of a bag of lightly salted doritos, there may have been words to that effect spoken.

There were plans for a holiday next week, seeing as I now have 9 days off work. Chris was going to order a trip somewhere which involved aeroplanes, or ferries, and I was going to go along. Chris is miles better at organizing this stuff than me. Except it seems that he now can’t get the days off. This is not confirmed, but he seemed a little hesitant when I phoned him earlier. And he said he’d contact his boss about it, and he’d email me when he know

No email.

Bah. It looks like my passport will die a virgin.

Oh, someone also got himself a new cameraphone. Guess who?

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