The spider’s dead.

My best friend gone. Arghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!

Well I was going to obliterate him when I first saw him – but it was late and I was tired and I was deperate for a pee. So I sorta left him alone.

I keep forgetting about him – until such times as I need to go for a pee and usually that is not the time i want to go hunting. Well not until I’ve washed my hands – by which time there is usually something fascinating to do – like drink tea – which sorta starts the cycle.

Anyway he’s been there for two weeks and last night I was working to two in the morning – then went to the loo and I couldn’t see him. But after looking for awhile i could see he was hiding from the light behind the dead catus plant.

So now we’re sorta of friends – I couldn’t bring myself to kill him and I’d kinda miss him when working late – when there’s just me and spider awake.

And anyhow Spiderman was my mostest, bestest favourite American comic book hero.

Anyway my daughter goes to the local college where normal high level of administration and support was employed – erm – making sure the Principal was getting his cup of tea with the right amount of biscuits and – er – making sure he wasn’t bothered by all those nasty people invading his college.

So there’s this long queue of people milling around hoping that the temporary admin assistant – who is fluent in four languages – but has only recently been doing intensive English – but – er – doesn’t know her way around the college – as – its like her first day.

So people are worried and stressed.

‘Where’s such and such a class?’

“Where is such and such a room’

Which the poor girl tried to answer – but was unable due to lack of permanent staff helping or working on the desk. It was an appalling way for her to be treated.

The woman in front was getting agitated. She was looking around – looking at her watch – sighing loudly.

The queue moved forward very slowly – indeed.

‘God!’ exclaimed the woman in front – looked at her watch again.

Another person moves up to the counter. It is now getting close to the start of lesson.

Another big sigh.

Then the woman walks straight to the front of the queue.

‘Where’s the ‘Spiritual Enlightenment Class’?’ she demands.

The girl at the counter asks. ‘Please – you’re not next.’

‘WHERE’S THE SPIRITUAL ENLIGHTMENT CLASS?’ Shouts the woman.

‘I’m sorry.’ said the girl. ‘I have people to…’

‘WHERE’S THE FUCKING SPIRITUAL ENLIGHTMENT CLASS?’ Screams the woman.

The man at the front of the queue said kindly. ‘Oh answer her – it’ll be quicker.’

The girl looked at her folder and told the woman the classroom number. ‘Room 202 East.’

‘WHERE’S THAT?’ Demanded the woman.

Someone else from the queue called out. ‘If you go through the double doors there that’s the East block – the stairs are just through the doors.’

‘THANK YOU’ Said the woman threateningly and with a look of contempt at the receptionist stormed off.

As my daughter was also going to the ‘Spiritual Enlightenment Class’ she followed the woman but at a distance.

My daughter got to the class, sat down and waited.

The Instructor stood up, moved to a flip chart and uncovered the statement…

‘Spiritual Enlightenment
is Learning How
to Release Your Spirt
to bring Harmony
to Yourself and Your Environment.‘

The Instructor was the woman from the queue.

‘How much?’ I asked this young lady looking for business. ‘I only want to know the price.’

She thought – ‘For you it will be £10 – unless you want to do it by yourself – in which case it will be £12′

I thought.

‘And it will cost £10 each for all the others involved.’

‘Erm’

‘OK – I’ll give you a special deal £2 off each charge.’

‘That’s good.’ I said. ‘But…’

‘Oh go on.’ She said with a smile.

‘No – its a bit too windy for a trip on a punt today – maybe tomorrow.’

Yesterday was Koffee on Khaki Day – at the cinema I managed to spill coffee three times on my trousers and twice on the steps. That’s 2.5 spills per cup (spc) – and one set of trousers that need washing. I did it well got both knees and almost the crotch. I then managed to spill coffee on my other set of trousers at home – bring my Koffee Spilling Average down to 2 spcs.

I am thinking of approaching Gap, a detergent manufacturer and an instant coffee company and then we could have a ‘Nation Koffee on Khaki Week’. Watch this space – I am on my way to riches beyond my wildest dreams.

Please leave your valuables clearly visible – signed Rupert the car thief.

Far more effective than the normal warnings.

Incidentally what’s happened to Poole – small town – next to Bournemouth – on the south coast of England. It was horrible – the quay was so quiet – the horrible cafes were mostly shut – they’ve halved the area of Poole Pottery and the pubs – all shut – cept for the one with all the people with tattoos.

Eventually went to Branksome Chime – right next to the sea – five miles down the coast – to a very posh tea room – I used to work there several centuries ago – when I was young – selling ice cream. Now tea is supplied in white china teapots – and – the service is more professional – than – but not as friendly – as when I was there.

In Kuwait the American forces have nicknamed the British forces – the Borrowers – this is because – our noble British government – has not given our troops – proper boots – desert clothing – tanks that work – guns that go BANG – when you fire the trigger. So using the technique of living off the land – our troops are borrowing – begging and – erm – borrowing – without informing the owners.

This follows the Ministry of Defence’s strategy of recommending that troops take vaccinations against some of the nasties they may come up against – but then making the soldiers sign a document – saying – that if the vaccinations go wrong – the soldier has no right to sue the Ministry of Defence – which is effectively saying – if you get harmed in this war – don’t call us – and we’ll distance ourselves from you.

The final indignity – according to yesterday’s Sun newspaper – is that two of the three British bases have no toilet paper. Surely – this has to be obvious – even to our civil service – that soldiers shit – and – I know the old school boy stories of the desert tribes – only eat with the right hand because – erm – and no – I don’t even think about describing why – or how – this was a story of the Second World War and Lawrence – the world has moved on in 50+ years.

So Tony – with your £100,000 pension when you leave office – what are you going to do – about supporting our troops – you put them there – you should be supporting them.

In a lecture I attended on ‘ethical issues’ in social research – our lecturer – told us about a young student – keen on dh lawrence – decided to write a dissertation on ‘the influence of literature on the sexuality on women in mining villages’ – or some such significant project.

His methodology consisted of – er – yes – going door to door – without any notice – or informing his tutor – in a Nottinghamshire mining village – asking miner’s wives about their reading habits and sexual experience. At the fifth house he was met by a miner – who was working nights – and being a little- a lot – innocent – he told the miner exactly what he was doing.

One of the conclusions of my research paper – Hazardous Social Research Techniques – is that there is a 99% chance that a male researcher going door to door – researching the sexual experiences of women – in a working class area – will be in a good position – to research the facilities offered in a National Health Service A & E unit – or he could get lucky – but – not being able to keep his mouth shut – or the smirk off his face – he will – with a certainty of 85% – be able to research intensive care facilities – not being awake during the A&E part.

Research in the suburbs is significantly less hazardous – but can be extremely exhausting – due to the long driveways – I’m told.

About 11:30 last night we took one of the cycle rickshaws around London and then to Waterloo station. It was quite an interesting experience going around Convent Garden and charging through the traffic in the Strand – very scary as the rickshaws didn’t seem to have brakes and the driver seemed to have no sense of fear or self preservation.

We scattered groups of pedestrians and without losing momentum charged in front of cars in the backstreets of London. However the scariest bit was going across Waterloo Bridge which has a long downward slope culminating into the large busy Waterloo Bridge roundabout – where cars aggressively challenge each at other at speed.

The rickshaw speeded up – about a hundred yards from the roundabout – we jerked suddenly to the right – blocking a taxi – yes – a taxi – and it backed off – and then momentum built up. Cars were rushing around – our driver sped up – he stood up – so that he could kick down harder – closer – I could see the cars – I could see the trucks – and we were still speeding up – I shut my eyes – we hit the roundabout – and the cars just parted – and a minute later we were whizzing up the pavement outside Waterloo. I paid and walked rather shakily to the station.

Well she arrived when it was closed for lunch – looked irritated – and was immediately greeted by a friendly – motherly – nurse – are you here for your methadone prescription? she asked – as the clinic also deals with drugs.

This immediately made the friend feel annoyed – so not only am I a harlot – but look like a junkie as well – she thought.

… well eventually she was examined – prodded – by an unhappy doctor – so would you be with all the jokes about – pox doctors and pox doctor’s clerks. Got the tablets and then left.

As she was leaving two guys were hanging around outside – trying to pull – I suppose on the theory that all women visiting the clinic do.

She was not a happy bunny when I saw her.