Because I can

What better to do when you're chilling out on a Friday night with a beer and a big cigar than write some nonsense on your blog.

And after the day I've had at work today, chilling out is just what I need. Tits up goes nowhere near describing my day, but I wont bore you with that, I've plenty more to bore you with. If you're having trouble sleeping, read on my friend.

All I wanted to do after I got home was crash on the couch and open a can of Boddies but I had to go play badminton at seven o'clock.

I used to play badminton every week with my mate Disco Dave. (We used to do weddings and stuff. I was DJ Bucko) It was about 5 quid for an hour but the socialist bastards decided it was a good idea to knock down our local leisure centre and build another one on the same spot, then make it free of charge. Now we can't get a court for love nor money, so even if the only available one for the past three weeks is 7pm on a Friday night, we've just got to take it.

Mrs Bucko decided it would be a good idea to invite Disco and Mrs Disco over for a chili and a few beers after our game. It was a good idea but they had to bring the Disco spawn along with them.

We don't have kids of our own; Mrs Bucko is quite good with other peoples but I can't stand the noisy disease bags.

You just can't have a conversation when there is a nipper in the room. The little ankle biter always has to be the centre of attention and always has to make constant and unnecessary noise. Screaming, yelping then barfing and pissing.

Fortunately our mates aren't righteous anti-smokers who think my cigar smoke is going to drop their kid in a split second. I fag it in the dining room and they don't complain.

Trouble is, I bugger off in the back to light up the mild cigar and the bloody rug rat follows me. Then the parents follow the rug rat and we're all in the smoking room so I bugger off back in the front and the cycle repeats itself.

I want to say piss off kid I'm trying to have a fag in peace but they do frown at that.

And what's all this "Uncle Bucko" crap? Kid. I'm not your uncle. I'm a chap your dad spent years getting pissed with. Period. Wasn't that a film anyway?

Fortunately though, folks with kids tend to be gone by ten o'clock. I'm surprised they last that long. Our house is not very child friendly. There are plenty of hard surfaces, sharp objects and cats willing to defend themselves against the grabbing hands of the tiny, tiny folk.

After they had gone I spent about fifteen minutes wandering round the house looking for something to do, imagining that I was bored. Eventually I crashed on the couch with a beer, another cigar and the timeless sound of REO Speedwagon and thought Ahhhhh....

At times like this you don't need to find something to do, you just need to sit down, shut the fuck up and relax. It does wonders for the soul.

Tomorrow is going to be made up of pretty much the same. I have no jobs to do, nowhere to go and no one to see. It seems like a long time since I could say that.

Two weeks yesterday I will be in Portugal and three weeks yesterday my life will be back to normal.

Disco Dave said that we might get a few bargains in Portugal since they have just gone bust and need all the money they can get. I pointed out that if they are not rioting by the time we arrive it will be because Cameron gave them all our money.

Anyway, you probably won't hear from me again until I get back from holiday. The snooker starts tomorrow. I've got five quid on Steve Davis to take the title. Should be good.

Have a good weekend.