Instead of lounging around my garden, nursing a hangover and soaking up sun like a lobster themed sponge as usual, I decided to accompany my housemate Sophie into town.
I hadn’t seen Bournemouth town in the daylight for some time and was excited at being out and around people like a normal, decent member of society. However neither of us expected it to turn into an adventurous, rip, roaring quest with twist and turns waiting around every corner. We didn’t expect it and rather unsurprisingly that didn’t happen. Still it was quite fun.
The giggles started at the bus stop of all places. The bus didn’t turn up and being a Sunday and living dead centre in the arse end of nowhere meant we had to start walking. Not before some strange small lady started moaning on at us about the bus service and how she was late for work.
Whoops; we must have led her to believe that one of us actually gave a fuck. Even worse when we did decide to trek to another stop she actually said “I think I’ll join you”. With that said we promptly jogged down the road to avoid any further awkwardness.
During the journey we discussed breasts and whether it could be possible to genetically or surgically alter them to produce more than just boring old milk. The topic came up after Sophie spilt her drink down her top and we thought it looked like a nipple wee. We came to the conclusion thst the best alternative to milk would be red wine in one breast and white wine in the other.
Further along Sophie pointed out a house that had a very interesting sign stuck on its door. I can’t remember the exact phrasing but it read something like “This is not a brothel, there are no prostitutes here.” I thought that was an ingenious way of throwing the police off track in case they came calling. We thought the sign needed a few more alterations and should read something like this:
“This is not a brothel, there are no prostitutes working here. You can NOT go round the back, and you certainly can’t ask Nazi Tony about which of the none existing prostitutes would suite your particular needs.”
We soon managed to get a bus into town, although time was ticking away as it usually does and our fears that the shops would be shut by the time we got there was becoming very real. Although we disguised our fear by discussing and planning writing all this in a blog.
Anyway we got to town and with time to spare. H&M was the destination as Sophie had gift vouchers and needed a bikini for the pool party we were throwing the next day.
I could tell she had no interest in my opinions of what consisted of a ‘good’ bikini as all my suggestions seemed to be wrong. So I found the men’s section in the corner and started looking around. I ended up buying a shirt for £15. Quite pricey in my books but I’m told it’s the standard rate so who am I to argue.
We left the store and again tried to board a bus home and again realised we had to wait, this time it was over half an hour. Luckily Bournemouth gardens was close by and we decided an ice cream and quick visit to the beach was a good plan. They had a carousel and we may have taken a ride if we thought it was worth the £2 charge. I think a picture of two people riding a carousel on either side of a mug would be nice as you could spin it round and around and relive the fun.
Another stop was close by and we decided to wait there for our bus. In which time several police officers and an ambulance turned up to beach, it was quite exciting although we couldn’t be arsed to nose about and see what the dealeeoo was.
Our bus arrived. We got on it. We were stopped a few moments later as hoards of other bastard commuters clambered on our peaceful bus and ruin the serene atmosphere. We pretended to be really big bus enthusiasts and performed a massive stupid grin for the benefit of the cute Chinese couple sitting the other side of us. They probably thought we were mad. Then we discussed how strange it would be if a ticket inspector got on the bus and stated in a loud confident voice “Dick check! Get your dicks out – what no dick mate? Get off the bus.”
When our bus passed the train station we noticed another bus going to Allum Chine and thought how nice it must be in Allum Chine and how lucky that bus driver was in that he got to go to Allum Chine everyday. The drawback, as I pointed out, was that he of course had to go through the difficult process of leaving the lovely Allum Chine everyday as well. It probably breaks his heart.
While these two women boarded the bus with their freakishly huge bowls of salad myself and Sophie started to sing about Allum Chine.
Everything is fine in Allum Chine – There’s plenty of wine in Allum Chine – I left my spine in Allum Chine.
Then we thought we’d sing about were we lived, Wallisdown.
There’s never a frown in Wallisdown – You’re always six feet off the ground in Wallisdown – Can you the sound? That’s the sound of Wallisdown – I was lost but now I’m found in Wallisdown – The dollar is beating the pound in Wallisdown – Fun and laughter all around, all around in Wallisdown.
We got off the bus and failed to steal the ladies salads that they shamelessly flaunted in our faces. We walked back to the house, Sophie’s sunglasses broke. We went inside.
Fairly good day in all. I’d give it a 7 and a half…
Don’t forget “The berlin wall-is-down in Wallisdown”
Hang on - a pool party? What’s a bunch of lazy, smelly, godless, jobless, peacenik students doing living in a place with a pool?
