You smell of wee

Ugh, what a traumatic start to the day. Well, actually, it wasn't so much the start as the middle, but there are somethings that can really mess your day up. And by 'day' I actually mean 'lunchtime.'

My haven was violated.

After four days off work I wasn't exactly in that post-holiday grump that sometimes hits after time off, but nor was I in the "yay, work!" frame of mind, either. That being the case I was especially looking forward to my lunchtime coffee, which was delayed just a little by a trip to the bank, where I queued behind three blind people who were holding on to each other's shoulders like they were doing a dance routine from the sixties, M&S, and Boots the Chemist (don't worry, nothing a cream won't clear up! Ha ha, just kidding. Seriously). After that it was on to Secret Starbucks, where upon crossing the threshold and readying my trademark salute to the barista - ohmygod! - I was assaulted by the overwhelming smell of urine! Trust me, friends, Secret Starbucks does not usually smell of wee. I quickly noticed who was responsible - some filthy hobo seated in one of the plush chairs, opposite some kind of social worker blokey who was filling in reams and reams of paper work. 

Now look, don't get me wrong, I'm all for helping the homeless (usually to another town where I can't see them - LOL!), but did they have to do it in Starbucks? Couldn't they have gone to Costa instead? What was even worse was that I had to actually queue beside smelly man, which put me right off asking for a fudge brownie, let me tell you. I got my coffee and retreated to the other end of the store, beside the toilet, where I couldn't smell piss and homelessness. Every now and then, though, I did check to see if he was headed towards the toilet, but as I watched him tongue the last of the foam from his latte in a fashion that reminded me of how I'd go at Autumn Reeser given half the chance, I reminded myself that no, that was probably the last thing he needed; apparently he'd already done it on the plush seat.

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Right, the delightful Willowc has tagged me with a … taggy thing. Thing is, it says I need to come up with eight random facts about me, which is the kind of thing I'm rubbish at; I think we all know I like Star Trek. That being the case, I'm going to subvert this little thing, and throw it open to you, my adoring reader. Um, readers. Nothing too perverted or personal, mind, although you do have the option of requesting a text or video-based response. Bear in mind, though, that any video-based responses need to be short and snappy, people, short and snappy! It takes an age to upload videos, so if anyone comes along expecting something like War and Peace you're more likely to find that I'll hunt you down and bitch-slap you.

You have till, what, Thursday? Yeah, Thursday.

And don't even think about asking me to flash my arse.