So i am declaring this as my first official post.
I haven’t blogged before mainly because i’ve always thought of it as quite narcissistic. But i guess finding it narcissistic and being bothered about people viewing me in such a manner is narcissistic in itself, right? I digress.
I’ve literally (literally literally) just got my right eye vision back to it’s former glory. I left another trail of Grace Newton behind in London and this time it included my contact lens pot. So last night i improvised with my own Bear Grylls style survival methods.
I just completely forgot that dude’s name (Bear Grylls) and tried to search for it with the tag Who is the wildlife man who lives in the wild from which i received the result “Ben Fogle” so then i decided that i thought his name was Ray but i think i was totally thinking of that dude who died from a stingray sting, the Australian one…but this resulted in the answer “Lana Del Ray” and, whilst i’m sure her life must have been painful hence her borderline suicidal ‘music’, i’m pretty sure she isn’t an official wildlife person.
So anyway… for my left eye i used a deodorant bottle lid and for my right eye a toothpaste lid. To anyone out there caught in a similar situation, remember to clean said lids thoroughly. My right eye has been uncomfortably minty fresh all day. Which is a waste as i haven’t even left the house to take advantage of this.
I had originally decided to break my bloginity (cringe) with an awesome conversation i overheard a couple days back on the megabus. It was the ever-delightful Middlesbrough-London journey which my arse cheeks are continually grateful for. So, setting the scene, dude number one (let’s call him Sports Direct bag bloke) boards the bus at Boro (presumably with the dream of a better life), then at our first stop in Leeds dude number two (let’s call him Flat Cap crooner) boards the bus.
EPIC CONVERSATION ENSUES.
Flat Cap crooner: “By eck it’s chilly oop on t’ bus”
Sports Direct bag bloke: “Ay mate. Canny wait ta git back”
Flat Cap crooner: “Oo err you goin’ t’ London laahk? I’m goin’ t’ London. Five chuffin’ hours. You goin’ t’ London laahk?”
Sports Direct bag bloke: “Nah mate, goin’ to the meadows. Got work as soon as i get back. Been up since 6am. 6am! Have ya got netflix? It’s 6 quid a month!”
Flat Cap crooner: “Oo what’s that? I watched wolverine recently. With that there bloke over thurr” (points over there)
Sports Direct bag bloke: “Ya basically get ta watch anythin’ ya want. Ya sign up and get a month free then it’s 6 quid a month. Ma warf n kids love it. Any film ya want mate!”
Flat Cap crooner: “Oo err aah’ve just gone bought meself one of those dvd gadgets, don’t know how to use it laaahk.”
Sports Direct bag bloke: “Ya should sign up to netflix mate. 6 quid a month. Can’t go wrong.”
Flat Cap crooner: “Oo by and by, by and by”
Grace falls asleep.
[To emphasise the oldness of the old man in my story, here is a picture of my Grandad. Even though he isn’t actually old in this picture.]