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You couldn't make it up;

Just another Friday, asleep all day, well, until mid-afternoon at least. Then it was get up, put tea-bag in mug, kettle on, and go for a pee. Or "go take a "whizz", as Homer quaintly puts it.
The weather-man had advised, -- they don't call it "the weather forecast" nowadays, it's the "weather "advice",-- a hot and humid day, then a night, and Saturday, of heavy rains and thunder storms. Flood warnings had been issued. Hot, wet and stormy. Just like the wife, yeah right, once upon a lifetime he thought to himself sarcastically. So far so right, pretty much.
Arth went through his usual routine, it's all so mind-numbingly predictable, he could easily write the script for his weekdays down to the minute almost, weeks in advance, but it's safe, secure, and well, predictable. He doesn't like surprises. It really is a love/hate bitter/sweet existance. An existance. That's all.

Well,anyway, "time waits for nobody" Freddie Mercury, rest his soul.

Seven pm. came and went and Arth set off for work. He caught his bus, as he always does and off he went, he and a few other fellow passengers set off for Barkton. By the time the bus had got half way there was just him, sitting at the back, a suspicious looking character sitting at the front who kept looking over his shoulder, Arth found that quite un-nerving, and the driver. You will not believe what happened next........

Suspicious looking character got out of his seat and went to speak to the driver. Then, he turned away, got down on the floor, as the bus went on it's way, and started doing "press-ups", can you believe that?
" It's good man", he proclaimed to the driver and within a few minutes he was back in his seat. He did that three times before Barkton. Arth wasn't sorry to leave that one behind.


Fast forward some eleven or more wet and miserable rain-soaked hours to clocking-out time on a Saturday morning Arth had a plan. He would take the next bus into Barkton town and buy a newspaper, just to kill a few minutes. Then, he would ride a bus back to the outskirts of town to Aldi's, and NOT fall asleep like last week and make his way back home.

Well, he caught the bus back to Aldi's alright, then happily traveled on past his intended stop totally in the land of nod. He'd done it again. ARGH! He was livid although he needn't have been. He'd snoozed on to the next village some four or five miles away. Again. He was still able to get a return bus and be in Aldi's car park before opening time but what a wally. He is beyond embarrassment, almost, but he was so angry with himself. A little unfair perhaps, all things considered.

Arth doesn't shop without a list. Aldi's or Asda's, he knows what he wants, he knows precisely where things are, and he doesn't hang about so he was soon scoffing hot cross buns on a bus heading back into town. As luck would have it not many minutes passed before he was on yet another bus heading home but he still had Asda's to call on once he'd been home and unloaded his Aldi bag.

There was no point in thinking about whether or not he could be "bothered with or needed to be" dragging his lame tired old arse out into the street, out from the warmth of home, as worn out and ragged he might feel, Asda's would have to be done.
Yes Aldi prices are nice but some things you just have to be pay proper money for.Even he has standards.

He didn't dare take his boots off. He just made time for a strong hot cup of tea and then, oh god, if there ever was one, and did he/does he really give a toss anyway? Arth is non-believer but he doesn't dismiss that which he cannot be sure of. Here we go again, he mumbled to himself as he turned the key in the front door and went out into the dull damp grey once more.

The ride to Stugely and Asda's was a bit of a blur but it never ceases to amaze him how much difference those few minutes asleep on the first leg of his journey can make to his day. He's knackered, done in, totally spent, but he'd manage and he knew it.

He didn't do much standing around either way and Asda was a breeze but walking home was more of a shuffle. Another heavy bag hanging off his shoulder. Hands in pockets. Kicking stones as he walked up that hill to the home 20 and finally, FINALLY, he turned the key once more, unloaded, kicked those damn boots off, and for now, it was over. Job done. YES'YES'YES!

Life eh?

dither..............

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