I Could Have Enjoyed Breakfast In Bed

Hello to flosears at The Rabbit Warren. She has a post here that made me laugh out loud, and it reminded me of this one – OMG WWII on Facebook! - apart from being funny, it’s very cleverly done; if you read it, look at the dates and times - they correspond with the date and year events happened.

During my early morning foray into the garden the other day, I noticed the ditch, which winds its way down to the river, was getting starting to get dammed up in places with branches, twigs and rubbish.

Why can’t people dispose of their rubbish properly?

Significant Other used to keep the ditch clear, but it has now fallen to me to do it. There’s only one other task I dislike doing more than clearing the ditch, and that’s *shudder* cleaning out the hair trap in the shower.

I did consider jumping down, but the chances of me either landing face down in a load of brambles, and/or ending up on my arse in the water were extremely high.

Jumping out of a plane?

No problem.

Jumping into a ditch?

Feck off.

Once I was safely down (the wussy way), I started picking up the crap people couldn’t be arsed to throw away in a bin.

There really is no excuse for people to do this; it’s sheer laziness and utter thoughtlessness on their part.

I gradually made my way along the ditch, but because the mud is so soft, I couldn’t actually walk along in the water – I’d have ended up sinking into the mud.

I know this for a fact, as it almost happened to Significant Other a few years ago. He was standing in the water chatting away not realising, until I pointed it out, that he was sinking. Heh.

You’ll notice from the picture above the ditch is reasonably deep, but it’s important to keep it clear because after prolonged heavy rain, it can fill with water:

Apparently in the past, flooding in gardens running alongside it has occurred. So as well as litter clearing (I felt like I was one of those people serving a Community Punishment Order – all that was missing was the fluorescent jacket, oh, and a misdemeanour), I also cleared some of the vegetation:

In the process of pulling up some pretty tall weeds and launching them onto the bank, I got splattered in stinky ditch mud.

Several times.

Lovely.

Some of the rubbish I retrieved can be seen below:

People disgust me sometimes.

So that was how I spent yesterday morning – some people get breakfast in bed, some read the Sunday papers.

Me?

I cleared other peoples shit.

This morning’s task is much more enjoyable; sorting out something to wear for my hot date tonight.

Oops.

Did I type that out loud?

*wink*

Things I'd Like To Know

There are four things that are currently puzzling me (there are more, but these are the Top Four).

One
I went through a phase of forgetting to put the rubbish bins out on Monday nights, ready for collection early Tuesday mornings.

After getting hacked off at my first waking thought being ‘oh crap’ or ‘feck it’ on more than several Tuesday mornings on hearing other peoples bins being emptied (I tend to save those particular waking thoughts for the weekends. Weekends = more people about = me being pissed off with having to queue in shops for longer and seeing lots of snot encrusted children. I don’t mind seeing children, I’m not keen on the crusty faced ones though), I decided the answer was to write a reminder to leave out on Mondays, in the kitchen, to jog my memory.

When I get up on Monday mornings, I go into the kitchen and after making and drinking my first cup of ohhhh-yes-I-really-needed-that coffee, I get the note out and place it on the worktop.

I see the note several times during the day. And I mean really see it. I don’t mean my eyes skip over it. Each time, I see the note and think ‘yup, rubbish later’.

What I’d like to know is: Why can I remember to leave the reminder for myself, but still forget to put the rubbish out? Why do I lock up at night, go to bed and THEN remember I have to put the feckin’ rubbish out, causing me to put the bins out looking like I’ve escaped from the funny farm due to wearing nightdress, wellies, a very old cardigan and (if I haven't been out that day) mad hair due to not bothering straightening it? (And why can’t the parents of the snot encrusted children clear that stuff from their offsprings faces? It doesn’t take much effort. Clearly it does though. My mistake.)

Two
I was out having lunch the other day when socks-with-sandals-man caught my eye. This is such a wrong thing to do and I know I'm not alone in thinking this. The man on the left has got it right – sandals-no-socks. I do understand and sympathise the choice of summer footwear for men is nowhere near as broad as it is for women, but I'm sorry, socks with sandals is wrong.

What I’d like to know is: Does he have a happy marriage? Or does the wife of socks-with-sandals-man dislike him that much, she gets some sort of twisted pleasure by allowing him to become an object of mockery? Does she also, at night, remind him to take his socks off, only to get the reply, “I have, these are my tan lines,” at which she then pisses herself laughing? (Or perhaps he doesn’t take them off when he goes to bed........ ewwww)

Three
Ladies, you don’t escape my attention either. I was in the supermarket the other week and saw a very smartly dressed woman. Smart enough to make me think, ‘blimey, she looks smart’. This thought immediately evaporated as I saw her walk away.

(1. This isn’t an actual photo of the woman I saw – the supermarkets I frequent aren’t carpeted. 2. I’m not in the habit of eyeing women up, but she was VERY smart.)

Unlike the picture above, the woman I saw had made no effort whatsoever to remove the labels. It totally ruined the styled look she had going.

What I’d like to know is: Because the labels can’t be seen by the women wearing the shoes (out of sight, out of mind I suppose), do they think this makes them invisible somehow to everyone else? Do they also not realise that although the stickers might be out of their field of vision, to others (me), they jump out and shout, “Look at ME. I’m a LABEL. I have a price on me. Don’t you want to get closer to see how much the shoes were?” (Erm, I think I may need help.)

(Helpful tip: When you get your new shoes home, heat the label with your hairdryer for a few seconds. It softens the glue and the label peels off in one piece with no problem. How hard is that to do? It also prevents me people potentially getting arrested.)

Four
My next-door neighbours had a baby late March(ish) 2009. This means their child is approximately sixteen months old. Almost without fail, every time I see the child, he is being carried.

What I’d like to know is: Will he grow up and expect to be carried everywhere? When he gets old enough to go to school, instead of walking, will he stand at the door with his arms up? How would he enter the three-legged race on sports day? As a teenager, will his mates have to carry him when they go out? Will he ever play football? Will he ever go backpacking and if so, would he be the backpack? Will any future girlfriend have to be built like a brick shithouse?

I am most puzzled.