Some of the Humdrum

The Job wraps up around 06:30am, but I've still got around two hours travelling ahead of me before I can get to bed. I'm tired and my foot is killing me for some reason. Although as usual I'm the last one to get on the bus, I'm not too worried as there were plenty of seats on the way out. That would have been fine were it not for the fact that the morning bus is a fair few seats short of the night coach. I walk up the aisle past all the fuckers pretending to be asleep; their bags blocking the seat next to them. I'm reminded of that scene in Forrest Gump - "You can't sit he-ya". Eventually, I spy the amiable Jazzman who asked me for a shift swap earlier, so is therefore a good candidate for a bit of seat-sharing. His bag is where my feet should go, and although he offers to move it without resentment, I tell not to bother just to spite myself. He tells me he no longer needs the swap.

When the bus comes to a halt on the train, I'm in two minds whether on not to go and sit on the floor of the carriage and read my book. I spy Lovepole getting up from where he plonked himself next to one of the fake kippers, so I opt to join him behind the bus.

Lovepole is one of those people who makes going to work a bit more bearable, he's an interesting guy; funny, laid-back and a consummate piss-taker (obligatory for being in the job). Despite the fact we're both packing novels, not a word is read. We talk about the only thing guys ever seem to end up talking about, shagging and shitting. I lay a shameful yet personal tale on The Pole which has him creased over. While involved in a marathon Halo 3 session, I deemed it too great an ordeal to trek upstairs to take a much-needed leak. Spotting a handy (large) Ribena bottle, I opted to use that instead, filling a paltry quarter of the bottle before popping the lid back on. Gaming for hours at a time can make you really thirsty and this, coupled with a terrible short-term memory can lead to knocking back a huge gulp of your own piss. Although it was a bit of a shock, it wasn't nearly half as bad I'd imagined, just a bit like salty water. I have I believe, learnt my lesson.

We chat on until the train arrives back in the UK, Lovepole having me in stitches with a couple of things I regret I can't recall now. As always Lovepole and I talk about how we always say we should meet up outside of work sometime but never manage it, and we get back on the bus for the trip back to the car park.

I get in the Leon and whack up the heated seat control and some Goldie Looking Chain. In a tiredness induced trance I somehow make it home by 08:30. I dump my stuff by the door and make for the kitchen, pouring myself a pint of my current tipple, Welch's white grape and pear juice. I'm pretty hungry too, so I plan on demolishing the last piece of Dime torte in the fridge. After a couple of bites I feel a pang of guilt at previously scoffing half the whole pie and decide the final piece should go to my beloved wife, so I put the ravaged tarta back.

I get undressed and slide into bed next to Bootylace. It's weird, I always go to sleep next to her at night, but after a night shift I just want the bed to myself. I have trouble drifting off, so I read a little until, sweetheart that she is, Booty gets up to let me sleep. She's also got to get going in order meet her mum and then go for a meal with her Grandparents followed by some shopping at Westwood Cross in Thanet.

My left foot has been hurting all morning and prevents me from sleeping. I spray it with deep heat and finally nod off. I sleep fitfully, waking every now and again, not fully compus mentis until about 15:30, when I'm woken by the fella who mows our lawn, Lunk. He's mowing our lawn.

I call Booty to ask her to get some cash out to pay the guy and she reminds me to transfer across some cash to pay for my car tax. £165 for the year! It's overdue a service as well.

I use the facilities, then make my way downstairs to find 28 Weeks Later on the doormat courtesy of Lovefilm. I make some cheese on toast with a little Worcestershire sauce and take it upstairs with a glass of milk as an accompaniment to the flick. The movie is good, not great, but I'm glad they kept the awesome score from the first film, although obviously this doesn't have the same impact second time around. A question for those of you who've seen it: Does this mean David Bowie is immune to infection? Booty comes home halfway through the movie, but doesn't stick around due to her dislike of gore and predilection for nightmares.

After the film, I make my way back downstairs where Booty is working on her laptop, I give her a hug and a kiss and talk a little about her day. She moans that the £90 boots she was gunning for as a Christmas present have sold out in her size, and I worry that she might think I've already bought her some, what with all the hints.

I call Muzz about arranging a band rehearsal, (he's the guitarist and singer) and e-mail Ofcomputer (drummer) about potential dates (one of the proposed dates I subsequently realise is during Theatre Week reunion). I then play a little Halo 3 and Bootylace goes upstairs to watch digital trash. I soon get bored as none of my friends are online, so I decide it's about time to make dinner. I'm never really hungry at dinnertime (what with cheese on toast at quarter to four) but I'm sure Booty will be, so I crack on, and hey, I can eat, y'know. I come up with turkey escalopes, pasta and corn on the cob. We eat while watching The Culture Show, Bootylace bitching all the while cos she wants to watch X Factor. I crack open the bottle of Ice wine Booty's Ma brought back from Canada, and despite the fact Booty has given up drinking so it's all mine, it's gone in minutes. I tell Booty what a cunt I think Mark Kermode is, and we end up bickering some more about the choice of TV show. I get myself a Ben & Jerry's 'Wich, setting off Booty again as I didn't get her any dessert. I offer her half of the 'wich, but she stubbornly pretends she doesn't want any. Eventually she relents and takes a bite. Bootylace suggests we watch something we'll both enjoy, but my foot is bothering me so I decide to take a bath, and read a book while soaking. I invite B-lace to sit on the toilet and chat to me but she respectfully declines.

After I'm finished in the tub, I grab us some cold drinks and then start writing the blog while Boots finishes watching X Factor on ITV2 (ugh), and the seemingly endless CSI. She asks if I'd like a hot drink, and then tells me to make her one while I'm at it. I warn her that all this is going in the blog, so she tells me to mention how lazy I am. She then sets out to make the drinks anyway, but I stop her and tell her I'll do it, which makes her go all soppy eyed and cutie voiced. That's what I'm going to do now - an Amaretto-laced Tim Hortons for me, a tea for the now tea-total Bootylace.