iPad
Since my last blog, I have acquired an iPad. Since the now late Steve Jobs unleashed the overgrown iPhones upon us all a few years ago, I’ve yearned for one, on the same level as a lion yearns for zebra meat, a fish for water and Alex Ferguson for Jack Daniels. So, being brave (or stupid), I raided my piggy bank (Online Saver account) and made my way to the Apple shop, post-haste.

The Apple Shop is mad. The place is fill of children playing with all the fancy toys out on display, no doubt Googling the latest craze from the playground – Justin Bieber, One Direction and Morgan Freeman.

I looked for somebody who was in change and would be able to sell me an iPad. Mainly so I could get the hell out of the children’s after school club as fast as possible. Lots of adults were dressed in coloured t-shirts, I guessed they were the self-proclaimed “geniuses”. If you’re a real genius, you would be in a laboratory or library – not working in a shop.

I eventually found a genius who appeared delighted to see me. His excitement was so extraordinary, I thought his brains were going to leak from his ears. Despite this, he asked me to wait over by the iPad table for another genius to assist me. While I waited, I changed the wallpaper on all the demo iPads to the Bath City FC logo and left my blog, Sean’s Stories, open for the next person to use the demo iPad to discover.

I was eventually served. A genius tearing himself away from the laboratory, where he had just discovered a cure for AIDS. I was then asked what I would like to buy, what I knew about Apple and if I wanted to kiss the solid gold life-size statue of Steve Jobs in the centre of the store. Every response I gave was greeted by “amazing”. In fact, if I had been given a pound for every time I heard that word during my visit to the shop, I would have had the iPad paid for.

Somebody once told me that iPads are made in a factory in China and everyone that works in the factory wants to kill themselves due to the poor working conditions. If I worked in the Apple Store, I would kill myself. I think it would be awful.

Ill
While you were all enjoying the long, 4 day Jubilee weekend, I was ill. A throat infection. I’m not sure how I contracted it, but it was very painful. Doing what any sensible person would do, I didn’t call the doctor, instead opted to look on the internet for advice. The conclusion – I was either pregnant or had AIDS. I suspect the former. It really hurt though. My throat felt as if I had swallowed a razor blade and washed it down with lemon juice. I was kept alive on a strict diet of chicken soup, custard and many pints of TCP – my flat still stinks of the stuff now, although in a strange way I like the smell. I may use it as an air freshener from now on.

The bank holiday weekend ended and so typically did the shearing pain in my mouth. Therefore I did not take any time off work. The fact I cured myself also meant I did not have to visit the doctors or buy a pregnancy test. I suppose that is a good thing.