Last night, I went with Claire and her parents to a pub in Keynsham for a meal. This was to celebrate both my birthday (belatedly) and her mum’s (ahead of next week). For those of you who don’t know the place, Keynsham is situated halfway between Bath and Bristol. It is not as classy as Bath and not as rough as Bristol. The posh Keynsham residents will boast to be closer to Bath, while the riff-raff will no doubt claim to be Bristolian. As somebody who lives in Bath, I can say, one hundred percent, that Keynsham as not linked to our city in anyway, and is a place in its own right. However, we do share the same useless council – Bath and North East Somerset.
The meal was nice. After eating a pie and drinking a pint of Thatchers AND white wine (that’s not a Bristolian cocktail, it was a pint of cider and a small glass of wine, which was free), I needed a piss. I made my way to the toilets. They were surprisingly clean. I was all ready to commend the cleaner on an excellent piece of urinal scrubbing, when I noticed something horrific in the cubical. A turd. Not just a turn in the toilet bowl which had not flushed properly, a turd on the floor! Disgusting. To make matters worse, it’s creator had not shat it onto the floor. To make things EVEN worse, he (or possibly she) had crapped it into toilet paper, wrapped it up like a burrito (which, ironically is what Claire had for her meal) and carefully placed it onto the tiled ground. Nice.
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So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
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