I have grapes...

I awoke this morning and after rubbing the Fuhrer's trademark against my girlfriend's face, both to annoy and unnerve her, I realised that my idea of spending the day as Richard Herring was going to be a non-starter. I had arranged to collect my 9 year old daughter from school later today and so I didn't think it would be wise to turn up with a filthy toothbrush and subject myself to some ignorant abuse from the selection of playground-dwellers that had managed to tear themselves away from FoxyBingo.com in order to collect their many spawns. I'm not sure I'd like to get on the wrong side of one particular parent, this being the woman that looks like a fat Jonathan Ross - never a good look for either sex. I don't think I could argue it was just a moustache and I wasn't trying to look like 'him' because unlike Herr Herring, my hair also looks like Hitler's. See attached photograph. And so it went. Chopped and moisturised so did I, to college. Having met my friend Claire at the bus stop, we set about conversing about all manner of things, from Oxford United to big thighs. However, this was halted by the appearance of a twentysomething dick; with his Nike swoosh style fringe, no coat and a mobile phone with achingly loud sound reproduction capability. I know this because he proceeded to sit behind us and begin viewing some mind-numbing, dimbo-dumbo shit on the thing meant for phonecalls. I - and the rest of the top deck - caught lots of swearing and references to being "pissed" and "hot" and it sounded for all the world like someone and put a hidden microphone in Cheryl Cole's bathroom. I enquired as to whether this oxygen-thief viewing oxygen-thief had any headphones that he might wear (and also pointed out that the rest of the bus didn't want to be subjected to this kind of shit) and was told to "bore off". I questioned his ability to speak English and on consulting Urban Dictionary for a definition, was delighted to meet this entry: "A word used by unintelligent and simple people who are unable to come up with a witty response and so turn to this phrase." Which was largely prophetic as his 'argument' was nothing more than short stabs of abuse - the confusing 'hyphenated or not-hyphenated' bellend/bell-end being one such jibe. Abuse tennis continued, but it wasn't until I reached college I realised just how different and funnier it would have been had I elected to wear the Nazi look out today. But that's one of life's little tragedies I suppose isn't it - still, at least the bus was running on time...