Went out last night to the Unity pub quiz. Had two staropramen, two arguments, a beer spilled on me, got the quizmaster to say ‘I am a cunt’ in Czech repeatedly, came fifth (not bad as it was just me answering questions), came home, tried to stop Amalia scratching / biting / killing me for half an hour or so, watched Eurotrash, went off to the land of kip. It was a cool night.
Today we were meant to go the advice centre to find out how we can avoid going to jail for not paying the council tax bill from last year but everyone was too lazy so I went off to buy some new sensible work trousers. As expected they were all too tight to put on, ridiculously large or (and this is 90% or so) cut in the ‘office perv’ style as so:
So I gave up without buying anything and went to work, where I got a call from a guy asking why his card wasn’t working and had to tell him he’d died of Leukaemia three months ago according to our records. Odd as it means we must’ve received a death certificate from his next of kin.