Variagated mutterings

I am a dancing god

Whoops. That was a typo. Actually, I’m more of a dancing dog, stood on a dancefloor nodding my head back and forth. If you’re lucky (or unlucky), you might get a bit of air guitar in there.

How do some people do it? I mean, look cool dancing. John Travolta was the archetype some years ago, yet anyone who does what he did just looks like some arse trying to be Travolta and failing miserably. Of course, these days he’d likely crack any glass dancefloors with the excess poundage he’s carrying.

Then you’ve got Michael Jackson’s moonwalking and groin-grabbing. It’s looking like the only shuffling he’ll be doing for the next 30 years will involve 5 knuckles. I’d not be surprised if he’s squealing when someone else grabs his nutsack either.

Caught out

Which is the better? Watching a little kid gurgle and smile, or catching out an otherwise normal person sticking their tongue out and make daft faces at it? Such happened to me today. The poor lass didn’t realise I was watching her until she’d been gurning at the poor child for an age. She went a right shade of beetroot.

Halifax PO

I don’t wish to be mean, but what is it about Halifax’ main Post Office? It seems to be like some kind of Munter Magnet. Aside from my good self, every time I go in the place it’s full of ghastly looking people. In fact, the only attractive ones I’ve ever seen in there are male.

Actually, I think that pretty much goes for most of Halifax town centre. What scares me most is that a vast proportion of the worst genetic freaks seem to have offspring. How can a bloke get that desparate? Or that drunk?

Remind me never to go out drinking in Halifax. Ever. Actually, I did once. The night ended watching some poor sod getting his head jumped on (literally – jumped on) by some psycho trendy freak who’d recently been kicked out of the army for being “mental”. I’ve not been back out there since.

Chavs out!

I heard from Dean (ex-neighbour, now landlord of that property) today, and apparently the chavs next door have been given the heave-ho for non-payment of rent. One of the rooms is apparently in a right state, and they’ve made a crap job of fixing the bathroom door the police kicked in to get to the fugitive they were harbouring.

A huge change from the previous people. Dean turned up to give the house a tidy before re-renting and didn’t even have to open the packet of dusters – the place was spotless.

What’s worrying me, though, is he said “You’ve probably already noticed…” before he told me. Well, I hadn’t, because one of the scrotes was stood on the doorstep this morning when I left for work. I’ll be keeping a close eye on the place over the next couple of days to make sure they’re not sneaking in with spare keys.