Dust off those bollocks

I’m supposed to be staying in tonight so I can be up early tomorrow to clear out a garage for someone. But balls to that one, I’m on the razz. I know I’ll regret it in the morning but sometimes you just have to go with the flow.

I’ve been asked to meet someone for a drink. Does that constitute a date? I’m not sure really. It wasn’t arranged as a date. We just said we’d meet for a couple. But there will only be two of us and we’ve never met for a drink before on our own.

All I know is that after i post this I’m having a bath and will don my best underwear, just in case. ;-)

I went to see my dad last night. He gets tired very quickly but doesn’t want you to go because he’s bored and craves company that he feels comfortable with. When friends or family call he seems to want to put a face on and pretend he’s ok. But the second they leave he’s complaining that he’s tired and wished they had gone an hour ago. With mum and I it’s different, he’ll just fall asleep mid conversation or tell us to shut up for a bit whilst he has a kip.

He took off his shirt so I could look at his scar and he looked like a bag of bones. The operation has ruined his pallet. Everything tastes funny or of nothing at all. So he’s not interested in food and only sees it as fuel

Sometimes he’ll crave a meal, but by the time my mum has made it he’s gone off the idea and a few mouths full in he’ll complain that it doesn’t taste anything like it should do.

We watched a bit of the Eurovision song contest semi-finals together but he hated everything and everyone on it. The UK entry 'Blue' were winding him up the most. He hates the fact that they come across as “Cocky” and were waving and acting up to the camera all the time.

He’s turning into a miserable moaner and even thought It’s understandable there are times when you just wanna slap him.

God knows how my mum copes with him 24 hours a day.

Anways, short post over, time to doll myself up for tonight. Shave, teeth, bath, shower. A little light dusting of talc to the bollocks and bum (not too much, don't want a puff of smoke when i'm de-robing, as has happened in the past) Deodorise, filck my hair into some sort of creation, glad rags on, take them all back off again because i'm not happy with the look, glad rags on and off again for the next 30 minutes before saying "fuck it, no ones looking anyway". Fight my way through a sea of cloths now cluttering the bedroom floor that i intend folding & putting away in the morning.

Cash, Cards, condoms, condiments, and outta the door like a rabbit up a drainpipe.

See ya the other side  ;-).