I am now off work for a couple of weeks. As I am not going on holiday anywhere it that leaves me with a lot of free time, effectively I am unemployed. So, what do the unemployed do? Stay in bed until 2pm, wander around the place in only their pyjamas and watch Trisha on television… maybe. It’s an idea if things get really dull.

Later in the week Mr. Hobart is coming back “home” to Bath for a few days. So no doubt there will be some madness there, probably involving a Nintendo 64, ratchets, bucket of KFC, non-alcoholic lager and some used underpants (don’t ask). Blood will be spilt, most likely from the veins of Mr. Watkins.

I went to The George pub with Mr. Watkins again last night. He was very late, mainly due to events out of his control. He runs an internet café and when it was time to close for the evening his customers didn’t want to leave.

I observed the customers over the webcam as they took their time in ending their internet sessions, while Mr. Watkins scurried around the café politely asking them to “Please fuck off”.

One customer caused me great annoyance in refusing to leave (well, that’s what it looked like over the webcam). I have asked Mr. Watkins in future to physically unplug the café’s network router next time. Either that or physically remove the customer.

Anyway, Watkins eventually made it to Bath and we headed for the train station to get a taxi to the pub. We joked that “Uncle Albert”, the scruffy looking taxi driver who has picked us up the last two weeks would be there – he only bloody was! Never has the term “We must stop meeting like this” been more appropriate.

Watkins and I were a little worried by the fact that he was waiting for us AGAIN, so instead of climbing aboard, we decided to hide inside the station, peering out from behind the windows, waiting until he drove off. The trouble was that he didn’t, he even got out of his car for a rest!

We decided to sneak off and head for another taxi rank, as we were escaping somebody else got into his taxi and he drove off. Hopefully we’ll never have to get a ride from him again, however something tells me that we haven’t seen the last of “Uncle Albert the Taxi Driver”.

We arrived at The George where I had Sausage and Mash. We had to wait for a whole hour for the food to arrive. During this period I got extremely bored and started to play around with a candle that had been placed on the table.

You can have a great deal of enjoyment with candles in restaurants – sticking your fingers in the hot, melted wax and then allowing the wax to solidify, breaking the rim of the candle so the wax pours out all over the table. I had a lot of fun but I also made a big mess, totally befouling the candle. Apologies to any waitress to had to clean it up.

Watkins came back to mine after as it was too late for him to make the train and bus journey home to Bristol. As always he slept on the inflatable air bed. As I was dosing off after a long, tiring day I heard what I thought was breathing. I turned on the bedside light to find out what it was and saw Watkins staring at me. This shocked me and I instantly let out a loud, high pitched scream. Any neighbour or flatmates must have been more than a tad concerned. Watkins is now officially a bastard and following the Carling trick in The George last week I owe him two pranks!