Last night my Mum told me my shoes were knackered. She showed me the thinning leather on the heel as well as the small hole at the front, but I told her not to be so soft. This morning my Dad came in my room and showed me some new shoes he had bought me for tomorrow’s christening. He said that if I didn’t like them he’d take them back and I could get some later. I didn’t like them. They weren’t bad or anything, they were just average shoes. I’m not an average man so they weren’t suitable.
After eating my dinner, me and my Mum went to Blackpool. As it was Grand National day and it’s a legal requirement to place a bet if you’re British, we called into Ladbrokes. I put £5 on the horse The Midnight Club. I say I put £5 on the horse, my Mum put it on for me along with her and my Dad’s bets as well. I had odds of 10/1 so I thought I’d give her the fiver back if I won, which was nice of me.
After this we went into Marks & Spencer as my Mum thought she’d left her glasses case in there the other day. It was strange being in that shop again, I had spent years of my childhood being dragged around there by my Mum, and the layout hasn’t really changed at all. My Mum’s glasses case hadn’t been handed in at customer services, so we continued to Primark where she took back a top she didn’t want.
We then went into River Island and I found some shoes exactly like the ones I currently have, so my Mum bought them for me. When I was trying them on I only tried the right shoe on before deciding I was getting them.
“Aren’t you going to try the left one on?” enquired my Mother.
No Mum, I’m a risk taker with no respect for the rules.
We then got baby Elise some Winnie The Pooh cutlery from H Samuel as apparently you buy silver for christenings, then came home.
The Grand National began at 4.15pm and my horse was a massive let down, finishing 6th. Fortunately neither of my parents’ horses won either, I couldn’t have been doing with that. As I didn’t win, I kept quiet about the £5 my Mum had put on for me, so technically I didn’t actually lose at all.
We had one of those Asda curries for tea. My Mum had Korma because she’s a pussy, I had Tikka Masala because I’m a normal person, and my Dad had Madras because he thinks he’s hard.
After tea, my Mum started watching some horseshit dance competition programme on BBC1, so I put my headphones in and began to watch The Walking Dead which I downloaded last night. It’s basically a 6 episode zombie series with a plot not to dis-similar to 28 Days Later. Despite this though, it is thoroughly entertaining. I don’t really know why actually, they don’t really bring anything new to the genre, it’s just done very well. I watched all of Series 1 this evening, so it must be good as I have a short attention span for things which are less than 8 out of 10.
During my marathon of watching this series, an ant was crawling on my crotch. I’ve since noticed that the little buggers are everywhere! I feel like I’m in a zombie film myself, albeit a lot less scary. It’s like a really tame version of the film Arachnophobia. I’ve just had a look and the name for fear of ants is Myrmecophobia so that is the name of the film I’m in. Just looking at the wall now and there’s 4 of them sat there having a gang bang. I think I will let them live because I’m feeling nice.
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