I’ve got you under my skin
Grandad December 10th, 2007
Yesterday started off as a good day.
My mood was good, and what was even better, we had finally shifted the worst of the weather over to America.
It was cold, but the sun was shining. We decided to go down to the village.
Everything changed.
As soon as we arrived in the village, the mood took a downer. Bing Crosby was singing Christmas melodies very loudly throughout the place. I hate Bing Crosby. Well, I don’t hate Bing Crosby himself, as I don’t know him, but I hate his singing. And that goes for Sanatra and all that lot as well. The sound of "White Christmas" and all that sh*te really gets under my skin, so I could feel the kill instinct coming to the fore.
I decided to calm myself with a mug of coffee while Herself went shopping.
Sandy and I wandered over to the coffee shop, where there were a few people sitting out, supping their coffee and giving out stink about Crosby.
Then I saw them…..
The best tables nearest the heater has ‘No Smoking’ signs on them. And this was outside in the open f*cking air!
I complained very loudly to the owner. She agreed with me, because she likes a smoke or two herself, but said the health inspector had insisted.
Who are these f*cking Nazis? They have driven us outside, and are still complaining.
At this stage, I was spitting venom and was getting near what my psychiatrist calls ‘explosion point’.
I set fire to the ‘no smoking signs’. In fairness to them, they didn’t make much smoke.
One of the customers complained when I burned the sign on his table.
He made a LOT of smoke.
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