“Countryside is when you murder Piers Morgan.”

by Pseud O'Nym

I heard that once on a radio show, and I think of it occasionally but today it seemed really applicable to a wider range of people, who were all actively engaged in annoying me. It didn’t seem as if they were. Trust me, they were.

I was in a bad mood this morning and so needed to be somewhere else, anywhere really so as not to infect others with it. I can’t help it. It’s my default setting. Bad mood? Be selfish. Go somewhere else. So I did.

After a few hours my bladder let me know that it would soon need emptying. Shitting cock, thought I. Then I though that should cut a small – not too small – hole in my pants, match it up with a corresponding hole in some jeans and bingo! Problem solved. Carefully ease the one eyed trouser snake into position and then surreptiously  water the plants.I’m not going to do it, of course! Or am I….

I came back, still in a bad mood, went to the toilet, put on some sun cream, charged up my ‘phone and went out again. This time to a more pleasant park. Well in theory it was, in practice less so. I’d been enjoying the afternoon sun when some dickhead thought ‘ I know, I’ll fly my drone about, no-one’ll mind, in fact they’ll thank me for adding to their enjoyment of the day”

When that waste of oxygen had finally finished, who should take it upon themselves to unite everyone in earshot in violent thoughts that could be visited upon him? A bongo player. There must be special place in hell for bongo players. Why they think it perfectly acceptable to infect their noise on everyone else is a mystery.

He finished – and it’s always a him isn’t it – and then another started and reminded me that there’s one thing worse than a bongo player.

A fucking learner.