Nuffin On The Telly

So I made the ten-minute, benzene-ridden trek down to the multiplex. Nuffin on there, either. I went in anyway. Watched some lame rom-com – boy meets girl, happy days, boy loses girl and endeavours to get her back, with “hilarious” consequences, blah de blah et cetera. You get the idea. They’re all the same.
I walked out into the grey overcast half-light that always seems to be the prevalent weather in these suburban backwaters where local life revolves around chain stores and A-roads. Meh, at least it ain’t raining.
There’s a pub just down from the cinema, thankfully a fair distance from the town centre and hence Chavland. It’s got all these rows of chimneys on the roof and the whole place gives off this air of Olde Worlde and welcoming comfort. Once you get through the door, of course, it’s a different story – run by two dour miseries who begrudge you your change and will never, ever hand over the darts for a game in the stained and dreary games room, which is more often than not populated by pikeys brandishing pool cues and threatening to “foight ya”. The bar itself only serves two types of beer and whiskey but four kinds of vodka and a plethora of alcopops. I guess they got their clientele sussed a long time ago. Or perhaps they could never be arsed in the first place and the clientele responded accordingly. But who cares.
I bought a cheap whiskey and sat down at a table in the corner. One with a window so I can watch passers-by being engulfed by car fumes. Small pleasures, right? I nursed the crappy alcohol ’til the ice melted, and thought about what life would be like if people forsook their polluting gas-guzzlers and soccer-mum-mobiles and instead started travelling around in giant hamster exercise globes. Which would raise merry hell for those brave pedestrians who would dare venture out during rush hour. Human ten-pin bowling. Yeah. Then I got to thinking about what life would be like if I stood up right now, pulled out a lit flamethrower (cartoon-style, outta nowhere) and put this shitty pub to the torch, then walked out and did the same to the cinema and every other mind-numbing, mediocre, chavtastic establishment, all the way into the town centre, where things’d really get pretty.
I thought about these things and other, equally fantastical scenarios, then drained my glass, stood up and left the pub. I don’t like to think of it as lack of ambition. More like lack of flamethrower.
It had started to rain whilst I was in the pub. So much for that one saving grace of my day, I thought. With that in mind, aware that the day was probably going to be well and truly bollocksed no matter what I did, I headed into the town centre. From time to time, such as when I’m in this kinda mood, there is fun to be had in the town centre. For a start off, I could swing by the local nerd-stop and pick up my mate Vil, if he could be pried away from his precious painted models for long enough. I could be drawn into painting models to pass the time, but Kate Moss never answers my letters. Buh-boom chah.


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