Elektrickery
September 5th, 2006Who the fuck decided it was a wise fucking move to tame electricity? Whoever they were, they were a cunt, and no fucking mistake.
This morning, we’re just loading the kids in the car, when the next door neighbour pokes his head out of the door. “Have you got any electricity” he enquires? Now i’ve heard of borrowing a cup of sugar, but if this tool thinks i’m chasing a few ohms around the living room, to put in a cup, for him to have, he is sadly mistaken and even weirder than i had previously given him credit for. And his account was much in fucking credit, believe you me.
A quick check revealed the wizardy of elektrickery at work. “yes thanks” i said. “We haven’t” came the reply. Well heavens to betsy and fuck me backwards i did think to myself. I wasn’t too sure which tack i was supposed to be taking at that point, so ever keen to stay out of corners, i asked him just what the fuck he thought had happened to it. Perhaps it had got scared and hidden in the cupboard under the stairs? Or perhaps it had found itself a nice ampere from the wrong side of the tracks and fucked off in the middle of the night.
Anyway, having been at work all night and not really in the nest of states for passing the time of day, which in my book was fucking bedtime, i came in. I had a bath, and i fucked off to bed, which is where any self-respecting train driver working nights should be at 8.30 in the morning. The zoo-keeper of the volts, however, had very fucking different ideas. The cunt. Shortly after 9, he bought in the hevay mob, which looked like a fucking pneumatic drill, but felt and sounded like the five horsemen of the apocolypse riding through my bedroom with iron fucking horses and oil-fired jacks for hooves. So, my evasive tactic in the event of the road digging boys deciding the bit of road in front of my house is prime for digging (which it seems to be about 23 times a fucking year), is to go and sleep in my daughters room, under her Barbie duvet. Rock ‘n roll? I’m hard enough to rollerskate on with that Barbie duvet covering my fat arse, let me tell you. But no, the whole fucking house is shaking, and even the pictures hanging on the walls got tired and leant to one side. So, ay 11.30 i gave it all up as a bad job, got up, and had a cuppa. Pneumatic drills *AND caffeine. A perfect recipe for sleep, obviously. Not even listening to the fucking Chameleons could send me forth to sleepsville UK. The elektrickery boys finally fucked off about 2, whereupon i went back to bed, obviously forgetting that i had set my alarm for 3.30. So, after an hour and a half, i was awake again, and, frankly, incandescent with rage. As mad, as they say, as a bag of cats.
Thus, you fuckers get to share the full details of my day of woe. The only conselation (or however the fuck you spell it) is that i’m working with my mate Snowy tonight, who is a laugh a minute, and dry underpants did ought to be packed into my work bag. Snowy’s idea of preparing a train for service is sticking a key in the fucker, pressing the start button, and having a boo to see if there’s a couple of white lights at the front. He wont do much about it if there aren’t, but he likes to have a look.
Right, now i’ve whinged to fuck, i’m off. I’ll tell you what sort of night i have, tomorrow. Oh, and Fal, if you’re reading this, i love you really. You cunt. And Phil, go sit on the Eiffel Tower you french cunt, and fuck yourself.
