How I wrote about corrugated paper man
It's a bit odd when places where I used to fix computers turn up on the UrbEx boards. A while ago, I wrote that "The past was something other people brought up because they were festering for an argument, while for me it was some kind of unravelling stair-carpet and as long as I kept moving forward, the unravelling wouldn't catch me up and pitch me into space." Reading that makes me wonder if it's less being unravelled and more being attacked with JCBs being driven by robot Joni Mitchells. Big yellow materials handler, indeed.
I'd turned up at that factory to swap out a printer. It was probably some horrible Newbury Data (if that's not a tautology) beast that was connected to their Pr1me, so I had to ask the nice man in the guardhouse if I could park handy for the office the thing was in.
Unfortunately, it turned out that I was speaking to the Forest version of William 'Mate' Cobblers [/Goons] so I was treated to the full five minute rant about how he'd had it shot off in the war for the likes of me and that he'd gone to school every day with a sack of coal on his back. I presumed that was a Forest thing, since on the non-cousin-shagging side of the river people seemed content to just bring a packed lunch.
In general, I try not to care too hard about ver meejah. If only because it always seems to end in shouting and throwing things. However, after which particular coke-addled focus group did Ch-5 think it would be a bright idea to replace their 'news' 'programme' with a feed of a fat bloke who drives a white van reading from the Daily Mail 'speak your brains' section, live and direct from the public bar of The British Flag, Gloucester?
I stop now before I turn into Charlie Brooker.
I'd turned up at that factory to swap out a printer. It was probably some horrible Newbury Data (if that's not a tautology) beast that was connected to their Pr1me, so I had to ask the nice man in the guardhouse if I could park handy for the office the thing was in.
Unfortunately, it turned out that I was speaking to the Forest version of William 'Mate' Cobblers [/Goons] so I was treated to the full five minute rant about how he'd had it shot off in the war for the likes of me and that he'd gone to school every day with a sack of coal on his back. I presumed that was a Forest thing, since on the non-cousin-shagging side of the river people seemed content to just bring a packed lunch.
In general, I try not to care too hard about ver meejah. If only because it always seems to end in shouting and throwing things. However, after which particular coke-addled focus group did Ch-5 think it would be a bright idea to replace their 'news' 'programme' with a feed of a fat bloke who drives a white van reading from the Daily Mail 'speak your brains' section, live and direct from the public bar of The British Flag, Gloucester?
I stop now before I turn into Charlie Brooker.