(a pointless blurb follows cause i haven't been her for ages and fancied a natter about my boring life, etc)

so i was trying to get the ol' broadband connection going only to wallow in some sort of giant cliche, sub-'My Family'/Michael Mac routine about the torture of being shunted around a call-centre whilst actually getting so genuinely frustrated that i shouted into a cushion until my eyes went all fuzzy and these pretty silver lights came over my peepers and floated around the room for a bit.

oof.

anyway....i haven't been on here for ages so here are some things in my head about my work.

1. today a Philippine lady asked me if we had any BARAH STICEAND. we did. when she paid for it, she revealed a picture of princess Di in her purse.

2. a man with a severe facial disfigurement bought a police academy boxset. he asked me what i thought about the series and i said that i liked their early stuff. he then said that when he was growing up, he always wished he was mahone, because mahone could always get the ladies, but he could never get the ladies so he always wanted to be mahone because he was always with the women. this made me a bit sad because this man so desired to be steve guttenberg. i almost urged him to think bigger and go watch james dean or marlon brando or summit, but i thought i should just leave him wanting to be steve guttenberg. steve bloody guttenberg.

3. my ex girlfriend came into the shop. my only ever one of those. from when i was 18. i said hello and she didn't really say anything. then about 15 minutes later she came back in and gave me a hug and said sorry and said that she was weird before but she didn't recognise me and had to txt her friend to ask if they knew anyone that worked in their local hmv. a girl that once, however disingenuously, said she LOVED me, COULDN'T EVEN REMEMBER MY FACE. THAT'S THE IMPRESSION I MADE ON HER. sure i'm a little less fat and have glasses and less hair, but it's still the same fucking eyes and arms and bones and she didn't remember them. jeez. WOMEN EH? SUCH RUBBISH DRIVERS AND BAD MEMORIES

4. i watched a homeless man go through the bins outside work looking for scraps and this made me unbearably sad. but then it made me a bit frustrated at him. i mean...come on mate. digging through a bin? it doesn't really have to be like that, does it? you need to try harder, make some effort. look at those freegan people you always read about in the guardian. they don't spend money and they're having a fucking great time getting big sandwiches from the big bins behind costa and making toothpaste from bark or whatever. i might tell him this tomorrow. it's all about perception, really. if he moves to london and says he's being poor and homeless and dirty deliberately to make a sociocultural point about our wasteful society, he'll probably get to shag some fit hippies and write a weekly column for some blogs. he needs a twitter account really. i might talk to him tomorrow about this.

anyway.