Bored, bored, fucking bored, bored, bored.

Bored.

We've now been told that we can't continue with development because nothing has been tested. Yet they won't commence testing. Tis rather frustrating.

Words* used today to the delight of my co-workers:

Coruscating
Confuscating
Flocculation

This pub quiz is going to be a cakewalk.....



Time for our favourite storyteller with the patience of a saint......Ninestein!
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Ok so this happened fairly recently.

I don't watch much telly, but I do make a point of watching a few things, the gadget show being one of them.

We lived in a pretty big house, so if one of us wanted to watch the other side it wasn't usually much of a problem, but lately since louise decided I fancy our neighbour (a mid-fifties 16 stone bearded lady) she became rather more clingy [suffocating] even when I was indoors.

Anyway, because she wanted to 'be with' me she started to watch the Gadget Show with me in the upstairs lounge. Generally she'd just watch the show as most women would, feigning interest whilst threatening to torture any random female who might appear on the screen.

The bit she really liked though was the end. Not because the show was over, but because there is a competition, in which you could win a huge haul of electronic/gadget prizes, and she's always been a sucker for a competition.

So fairly early on she began to enter the competition; using her phone she would text a one-word answer to a number, and receive a 'sorry, but you haven't won this time' response shortly afterwards.

One night we were sitting in the lounge, I was writing and she was reading a magazine or something, and her phone beeped to tell her she had a message.

She opened it, and looked at me like I was a diahrretic nazi crouching to empty my bowels into her grandma's handbag.

Now when I am writing, I'm usually in another room, but even if I am in the same room it takes a lot to get my attention.

After a good 90 seconds of receiving 'the stare' I dragged my eyes away from the typewriter and said "What's up?"

She didn't speak, just stood up, threw her magazine on the floor, and stomped over to my desk with the phone.

"This is what's f**king up, who is she?" She shreiked, the deranged banshee look being a favourite of the season. She slammed HER phone on the desk.

I looked at the message and it read "***Donna, 32DD, in your area tonight, text "LOCAL" to arrange to meet girls near you***"

I was still in a bit of a daze from being so engrossed in writing, so I just laughed and gave her the phone back, saying "Ah it's just crap, ignore it" thinking that the message was so obviously automatically generated that she'd see sense.

Unfortunately it would appear that her 'sense-seeing' glasses had been left on the 'I'm a fucking mental homicidal maniac' bus some time ago.

She screamed and shouted for a good couple of minutes, whilst I stared at the typewriter, wondering if it would break when it bounced off her head.

Eventually, like a petulant toddler, she screamed herself out, and disappeared to the bedroom crying.

And it could have ended there.

A couple of facts at this point...

1. This had all happened at around 6-30pm.
2. We lived near Cheltenham

Anyway, about 45 minutes pass, and unable to get back to my writing I stand looking out of the upstairs window. Then I see her car reversing out, and catch a glimpse of her face through the driver window, looking a little deranged (picture heather mccartney on a space shuttle takeoff).

I call her mobile, no answer, so I think ok, f**k it, and go to make myself a coffee, and eventually I get back into my writing.

A few hours pass quickly when you're into it, and it's 11-40ish before I realise she's still not back, and begin to worry.

I call her mobile, still no answer, and then her friend's who lives round the corner, no luck there either.

Quite concerned now I call her mobile again, whilst heading downstairs to the car, considering going out looking for her. The last thing I want to be held responsible for is a 'broken arrow' incident [nuclear wife loose in the cotswolds].

This time she answers, very chirpy "Hi babe, what you doing?"

I tried to remain calm "Where are you? You've been out ages"

"I'm in Reading"

Reading is 1 hour 45 minutes drive from cheltenham.

"Reading, what the hell are you doing there?"

She arrives home at just past 1am, on a work night, shattered, make up like gene simmons, but smiley and sweet.

'"I'll explain in the morning" Is all I can get out of her.

I'm f**ked, so we go to bed, next morning unusually she is up and out of the house before I go downstairs.

In the kitchen there's a note that says "Went to find the woman who texted you - looked up number, based in Reading but no one there when I got there."

When she came home that night, she told me the full story. She'd looked up the number of the text on the net, and found an administrative address.

In.Reading.

The fact that this was the address of a text marketing company meant nothing to her, she basically assummed the double d whore would be there waiting for me to arrive and f**k her, so when she arrived after a 2 hour drive on a wet evening she was fairly disappointed.

The interesting thing was that the text came because she'd typed in the shortcode for the gadget show incorrectly, and signed up to some dodgy sex service.

About a week after this incident we went to dinner with a couple of friends, neither of whom knew me very well.

As the main course arrived (beef wellington I had) the conversation turned to the text she'd received, and she was all jokey and saying how funny it was etc. etc.

I was laughing along, thinking that her friends didn't need to know the full story, when suddenly, out of nowhere and to a virtually silent dining room she announced "Well I know ninestein sleeps with prostitutes anyway."
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A good friend of hers (she'd known her since she was 8 ) called her and said she'd met a new man and was mad about him.

Apparently, as women do, she told louise all about it, how good the sex was, how they had an amazing connection etc.etc.

I was sitting on the other side of the room as the conversation went on, reading and trying to ignore it.

They said their goodbyes, and within 4 seconds of putting down the receiver she said "Have you got something to tell me?"

"Er. No, can't think of anything"

Getting fairly insistent now...

"About you and Amanda?"

Oh for f**k's sake

"No, nothing about me and Amanda no. Why, wasn't she just telling you about her new man?"

"You're f**king her"

"No, I'm really not."

"She's just told me about you and her!"

Fairly bewildered now, "No, she's just told you about her and her new man"

"It's you isn't it."

"No"

"IT'S YOU I KNOW IT'S YOU YOU FUCKING BASTARDS BEHIND MY FUCKING BACK"

Continues for some time...

"No, it's not me Louise, don't be stupid"

She comes over, gives me a hug and says "I know, I just have to check to be sure."

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Melinda Messenger...

Near where we lived in the cotswolds there's an event called the Posh Car Boot Sale.

Basically hundreds of toffs and land and estate owners sell their old tat from the back of their expensive cars, and the money goes to the charity of the moment.

There's often a celebrity in attendance, to annouce auctions, events etc, and the year we went it was to be Melinda Messenger.

Now I've always had a thing for little Melinda, but her being an unattainable celeb has kept the precariously-covered bubbling acid bath that is my wife under relative control.

When I saw that she was to be the celeb in attendance I thought it best not to make a big deal of it, and just get through the event by having a nice day out and enjoying the antiques under the constant threat of scorching and unprovoked attack.

It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and the time was nearing 2pm. The wife and I had wandered different ways, I was having a beer next to a stall, and she was a couple of hundred yards away, looking at a saddlery stall of various horse stuff.

I heard a helicopter, and most people watched as it landed in an adjacent field, before the occupant, one M.Messenger, destination massive affronted confusion, hopped onto the back of a quadbike and was ferried to the main marquee.

I finished my beer, and Louise continued wandering round the stalls, til we met at the end of a row of the greying tarpauline tents.

The stall we were standing next to was another horsey one, lots of saddles and crops and hats etc. and Louise had been chatting to the girl who owned it for a couple of minutes, whilst sitting on a saddle on a wooden horse at the front of the stall, when who should walk up to the stall but the lovely Melinda.

I was quite excited to meet her, but obviously had to remain aware that meeting someone like her in front of louise was a dangerous thing to do.

I smiled, she was lovely, said hello, I took care not to stare at her tits, and pointed to louise saying something like "yeah, just here with the wife, having a look around."

Melinda, bless her, ever the lovely person looked past me at Louise, who was still sitting astride the wooden horse, holding the saddle at the back like you would as a passenger on a motorbike.

She said "That looks like fun, how much is it for a ride on there?" looking at the wooden horse and smiling at louise.

I remember the top Melinda was wearing that day, it was dark green, wool with a low collar. I remember that because my eyes were staring intently at her back when I heard Louise's eloquent response.

"Yeah you would love a ride but it would disappear if you sat on it you fucking stupid slag."

Before long I was back outside the beer tent, gulping down a John Smith's Extra Smooth as I heard the hum of a quadbike engine heading off back to that field.
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And that's it for now. More if I get any more good ones :)

*only one of which is 'pending' dictionary approval. Do you know which one without looking it up?