Party
I went to Craig's grandad's party this evening. Half of Bootle seemed to be there. Initially I was fairly demure (shut up, those of you who actually know me) and I managed to field off the many questions about when Craig and I are getting married, which university I am at and what job I do.
The little kids there were quite sweet, in the sense that none of them were sick on me and they only screamed unnecessarily loudly twice. The first occasion was when some slugs were located in the garden, and the second was when a toy rabbit was thrown over a fence at three large, angry dogs. I spent ages downloading and transferring [arguably inappropriate] music onto Craig's six-year-old sister's MP3 player and chatting to Craig's mum. I haven't spoken to her for such a length of time in the four years I've known Craig, so that was lovely. We listened to My Humps by Fergie and bonded over our hatred of misused apostrophes.
When it got a bit later, practically everyone else there was absolutely wasted, which would have been fine if they weren't a) driving and b) needlessly aggressive when drunk. Even the lovely ten-year-old boy was drunk on a mixture of Carlsberg and some vile neon pink concoction that looked and smelled like an indigestion remedy. Anyway, after most of the drunk people drove themselves and their kids home, I was left with the drunken, aggressive older men. I was made to download six different versions of fucking Danny Boy (they weren't even original in their drunkenness) by an utter tit who was never satisfied because none of the versions were by Roy Orbison. None of them understood the concept of the Internet, which is fine, but they were also far too drunk and belligerent to understand that it wasn't my fault that the one person on Limewire who actually shares music by Daniel O'Donnell has a wanky dial-up modem made from old spoons and he/she keeps logging off erratically, presumably to smack him/herself in the head with it as punishment for having such appalling taste in music.
The tit I mentioned earlier (the one who had an unhealthy interest in Roy Orbison) started whinging about the way "modern" comedians like Jack Dee and Peter Kay (?!) don't tell actual jokes, and saying Roy "Chubby" Brown is great, as are the other sexist, racist comedians he watches in Blackpool. Then he tried to catch me out by asking immensely bizarre questions that he assumed I couldn't answer, which gave me the opportunity to make him look quite stupid in front of people. Yes, I know what a mangle is - I'm 23, not an idiot. A mangle?! He was a couple of generations too young to have feasibly used a one himself. He somehow managed to confuse his knowledge of the existence of mangles with genuine intelligence. He later got very aggressive and called his very frail, elderly wife a "fucking dickhead" for saying she liked the oven and wished she had one like it because it wasn't as difficult to clean as theirs. She'd just had a major operation could hardly walk, and she was too polite/afraid answer back when he shot some incredibly cruel comments her way.
Before I left, I spent half an hour having a big argument with Craig's grandad because I said Cliff Richard was a homophobic idiot for going on anti-gay marches. Incidentally, Cliff Richard and being gay did come up in the conversation (I'm sure you can see why) - I didn't just introduce the subject for a laugh. At 2am I got into my car and drove up and down the bypass listening to Public Enemy and grinning to myself because I don't regret one thing about this evening. I realised that I would have only felt ashamed of myself if I had shut up when people tried to intimidate me, so I will go to bed happy tonight. I've got a mug of tea, a recording of the Eurovision Song Contest and the knowledge that I am not a racist, homophobic fuckwit.
The little kids there were quite sweet, in the sense that none of them were sick on me and they only screamed unnecessarily loudly twice. The first occasion was when some slugs were located in the garden, and the second was when a toy rabbit was thrown over a fence at three large, angry dogs. I spent ages downloading and transferring [arguably inappropriate] music onto Craig's six-year-old sister's MP3 player and chatting to Craig's mum. I haven't spoken to her for such a length of time in the four years I've known Craig, so that was lovely. We listened to My Humps by Fergie and bonded over our hatred of misused apostrophes.
When it got a bit later, practically everyone else there was absolutely wasted, which would have been fine if they weren't a) driving and b) needlessly aggressive when drunk. Even the lovely ten-year-old boy was drunk on a mixture of Carlsberg and some vile neon pink concoction that looked and smelled like an indigestion remedy. Anyway, after most of the drunk people drove themselves and their kids home, I was left with the drunken, aggressive older men. I was made to download six different versions of fucking Danny Boy (they weren't even original in their drunkenness) by an utter tit who was never satisfied because none of the versions were by Roy Orbison. None of them understood the concept of the Internet, which is fine, but they were also far too drunk and belligerent to understand that it wasn't my fault that the one person on Limewire who actually shares music by Daniel O'Donnell has a wanky dial-up modem made from old spoons and he/she keeps logging off erratically, presumably to smack him/herself in the head with it as punishment for having such appalling taste in music.
The tit I mentioned earlier (the one who had an unhealthy interest in Roy Orbison) started whinging about the way "modern" comedians like Jack Dee and Peter Kay (?!) don't tell actual jokes, and saying Roy "Chubby" Brown is great, as are the other sexist, racist comedians he watches in Blackpool. Then he tried to catch me out by asking immensely bizarre questions that he assumed I couldn't answer, which gave me the opportunity to make him look quite stupid in front of people. Yes, I know what a mangle is - I'm 23, not an idiot. A mangle?! He was a couple of generations too young to have feasibly used a one himself. He somehow managed to confuse his knowledge of the existence of mangles with genuine intelligence. He later got very aggressive and called his very frail, elderly wife a "fucking dickhead" for saying she liked the oven and wished she had one like it because it wasn't as difficult to clean as theirs. She'd just had a major operation could hardly walk, and she was too polite/afraid answer back when he shot some incredibly cruel comments her way.
Before I left, I spent half an hour having a big argument with Craig's grandad because I said Cliff Richard was a homophobic idiot for going on anti-gay marches. Incidentally, Cliff Richard and being gay did come up in the conversation (I'm sure you can see why) - I didn't just introduce the subject for a laugh. At 2am I got into my car and drove up and down the bypass listening to Public Enemy and grinning to myself because I don't regret one thing about this evening. I realised that I would have only felt ashamed of myself if I had shut up when people tried to intimidate me, so I will go to bed happy tonight. I've got a mug of tea, a recording of the Eurovision Song Contest and the knowledge that I am not a racist, homophobic fuckwit.