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Friday, 4 February 2011

image for .Armfeetandtoe. My Brain, and other missing parts. Youth, the carpet fitter

I woke yesterday morning, that upset the wife. Had breakfast, which pissed the dogs off, normaly I dont have time, and they get the bacon and sausages.

My eldest daughter asked me for some money, I handed her an Afghani $100,000 note and told her to change it at the bank. As she skipped away, I thought, 1 nil to me. It's worth about 50 pence, and if I'm lucky, they will have her in for questioning.

On the breakfast table is a note. "New carpet coming today, dont go out". Her in doors, has this inane idea, that because I buy and sell antiques online, I dont need to leave the house. When we have an argument, the first thing she says is, "Get out of the house!".

I sit at my desk, well, in front of the tv, and start to do my paperwork, if I had real distractions, like the phone ringing constantly, kids running around, dogs barking, I would have an excuse not to do it. So I blame Lorraine Kelly and her tits, and Jeremy Kyle for fucking up my vat returns. I dont think H.M. Tax bloke will believe me.

There is someone at the front door. I know this, because my two Staffies are foaming at the mouth, barking and biting each other. This does not bode well, if this person is a maniac, or a burglar. By the time they get in, both dogs will be shagged out, and missing a couple of limbs.

Moving the two knackered guard dogs aside, I open the door and am greeted by a youth who tells me he has come to fit my new carpet. I invite him, and his nose miner mate in.

They stand in the hallway, looking lost, they look at each other, then at me. I know there is something wrong.

"Wheres your stairs mate" Asks youth.

"This is a bunglow" I reply.

"We got an order, to lay carpet throughout the hallway" Says the nose miner.

"Not here, we dont have stairs, unless my wife wants the loft ladder carpeted" I explain. Would she want the loft ladder carpeted? I'm worried now!

"So its just the halway then?" enquires Youth.

"Looks like it, how much did you quote my wife?" I ask.

"Without the stairs? it will be £600 guv" says youth.

"Has she paid you?" I muse.

"No, cash on completion" interupts Nose minor.

My brain begins to overheat, where's the fuckin money then?

I dont have £600 in cash. What do I do?. I ring wife and she tells me there is £1200 in the draw in the kitchen. I start to explain about the stairs, and my brain starts to shout at me. "Dont tell her! you fukin mug! your £600 up!".

After about 10 cups of tea, two packets of biscuits, four sandwiches and 20 cigarettes, the carpet is laid. I give the boys thier money, and wish them all the best.

I let the dogs out of the kitchen, and they begin wiping thier arseholes on the new carpet, par for the course.

Sitting at the breakfast table, I count out the £600 she knows nothing about. A new engine for my garden railway?

A day out with the lads? It has got to be something she wont notice, for at least a year.

Evening comes, and the guvnor is home. She is tired and stressed out. The Nursing game can do that to her now and again, but she soldiers on. Rather her than me.

She loves the carpet, and askes what the two small faint lines are, I tell her it must be where the carpet is stretched. Fuckin dogs. I have made her a French salad with fresh bread and Goujion. She is disarmed.

9pm, I am sitting in the conservatory watching The South Bank show, it has changed, and not for the better. In my back pocket, I can feel the £600 straining to break free and be spent on somethiing for my ego.

In walks the guvnor, she has made tea, she sits down, and there is a brief silence.

"Wheres the reciept from the carpet people". She enquires.

It was nice having that money in my pocket, all mine, if only for a brief time.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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