Today I discovered that, if I left the house more often than twice a month, my life would actually be really funny. And my diary entries might actually be funny, but sorry – there’s no sign of me becoming a normal, well and social human being just yet.
This morning I took my mum to the doctors. I say that in the loosest sense of the words because I didn’t have to drag her out of the house kicking and screaming like she had to do with me when she took me to the doctors, but instead in the sense that there was only one adult present in our duo and it certainly wasn’t her. (Although, truth be told, we swapped over by the time we got the café for a sit down and I started making a mixture of smushyness out of strawberry jam, croissant and sparkling mineral water at the bottom of a paper cup. Man, that looked good.)
On the way back – we’re skipping the part about the doctors because, unless you happened to find grumpy old men sitting in waiting rooms tut tutting at pop music erotic, it’s boring – we passed a building site. Just outside the entrance to the site, sitting on top of some bags of sand (that are there just incase the builders get bored and decide they really want to build sand castles instead of stupid namby pamby old folk’s homes) was a sign scribbled on a rectangular piece of hardboard. On it there was a St George’s Cross (big red plus sign, the English flag, for those who don’t know) and on it they’d written “ha ha ha ha”. I think my favourite part of being Scottish is that we’re completely skipping the part of the bible that insists we should love our neighbours until God gives in and sticks a P.S. on the end that reads “so long as they a) shut up about 1966 and thinking they’re the greatest football team on the planet and b) stop thinking that England and Britain are the same thing”. So God, if you’re reading this, hurry up.
After that I went into the post office to get some money. It was busy, as it always is, and so all of the counters were open. One wasn’t serving customers though, mostly due to the fact that it was being staffed by a life-sized Miss Piggy. This Miss Piggy was wearing a Post Office uniform, and a name tag that said “Miss Piggy” on it. I think I have discovered the reason that the Post Office is losing so much money that it has to stop delivering 2nd class post and practically everything else posted on a weekday in a yellow envelope – they’re too busy cavorting with stuffed toys! Now that’s the sort of job I want when I grow up, oh yeah…