deconstructing mark
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Thursday 12.6.03 | I keep forgetting to put this up on here: I triumphed in Boots the other day, and am still feeling proud of myself now. I rarely genuinely blag about things on here, because most of the time life just conveniently falls together in front of my eyes, but occasionally I give it the odd kick to help it along the way. Such is the case with Sunday. It was 4.45 (so like, shop-shutting time) and I bought something from Boots to take back to Germany for Matt because it isn't available over here or something (I will not go into what said product actually was to save Matt's dignity, but goodness am I tempted... ;-)), and, once I had bought the damn thing, passed a Superdrug. Just out of curiousity, I wandered in to find out how much it would cost, thinking that, because it was a medicinal product, it would be the same price everywhere. I was wrong, I would have saved 20 quid in Superdrug. So I quickly bought it again in said Superdrug, and then legged it to another branch of Boots to take the original back (you following me here? Will get to point soon, promise...) where I was told that they didn't exchange medicines. Ever. Even when the security seal was on. And I had a receipt proving I had bought it 10 minutes before. The shop was five minutes from closing, and given that I was flying back to Berlin at 6 the following morning and had twice the amount of medicine on me that Matt needed, I wasn't in the mood. I asked to speak to the manager. 'I am sorry, sir, but I don't think I can refund this. I know you bought it 10 minutes ago but it's just our policy.' Mark leans over the counter a little further and looks said manager in the eye. 'Look mate. I have just bought this a lot cheaper in Superdrug. I haven't touched the product. You can see the security seal. It's in tact. This is the last opportunity I have of buying this, as I am flying to Berlin tomorrow morning at 6 am, and not coming back for a long time. I am also German, and more than capable of starting wars.' I know this last bit is stretching the truth just slightly, but I got what the refund I wanted. :-) Saturday 14.6.03 FUCK fuck fuck, off to Prague on Friday, and have got nothing booked yet apart from an opera a week today. Shit. Must do something about that. I have, actually, been incredibly lazy over the last few days. All I have done is swing by the doctor's with Matt so he could pick something up, done some food-shopping, and, erm, that's it. Oh yeah, and got a bit pissed with Justin last night. Going out go get battered tonight with crowd too. Oh god :-) Sunday 15.6.03 HMM, yes, did get trashed last night, but didn't go clubbing, so am still feeling half-angelic. Today has been a day of various nothingnesses, made brilliant by a simple phone-call from Alicia, who rang to say that she had just been shat on by an Italian pigeon. Teaching the pensioners again tomorrow, then meeting about starting architecture tours, then usual Tuesday madness of grammar lesson and choir, and then Claire arrives on Wednesday morning. The descent into chaos begins. Monday 16.6.03 PERHAPS yesterday's pigeon-comment needs slight elaboration. I know that Alicia got shat on by an Italian pigeon, not because she happened to be walking through Trafalgar Square or somewhere and got dumped on by a bird that then laughed and said 'ciao' but because she is currently in Italy. Whether this makes the actual pigeon Italian or not (I mean, it might have been a Trafalgar Square pigeon, in which case it would have said 'No War on Iraq' most probably,) is, I suppose, unclear, but then the chances that a pigeon from the centre of London (most of which have one leg, adding to my doubts) could and would fly down to Salerno are slim indeed. And that it happened to be that particular pigeon, freshly emigated from the South of England, which specifically chose Alicia on whom to release poo, are very small indeed. I'll shut up now. Tuesday 17.6.03 CRY, scream, wail, shout, pose threats, disown me, I don't care. I am giving serious consideration to buying taTu's album. It's not that it's any good or anything (thinking up 200KmH in the wrong lane probably exhausted their artistic creativity, after all) but All the things she said and Not gonna get us both amazing songs, just for their catchiness and their ability to compel me to jump around, waving my arms like a windmill on speed, every time I hear them. I must have.... Other news today comes from my English class yesterday. 'So Doris,' says Mark, in his most soothing, slow, teachery voice, 'what did you watch on television yesterday evening?' 65-year-old Doris gives Mark a dirty grin, giggles and announces to the rest of the pensioners present: 'Ein PORNO.' | |||||||||
