There has been quite a lot of excitement at the workplace recently – justifiably: there has been a Sainsburys Express being built for the last few months. And this week it opened.
The truth is that it had opened on Wednesday but the months of excitement and posturing, “will there be a salad bar?”, didn’t build a case for going on the opening day. It was a fucking ridiculous question – a salad bar in a Sainsburys Express? Yes and there’ll be a shower cubicle in the next black cab I get in. WHAT ON EARTH WAS I THINKING? The Sainsburys was quite a good little shop though, certainly better than most of the shit around here – and thanks to the nearby McColls setting ridiculous prices – and comparatively competitive pricewise.
Phil – we don’t come here for reviews of Sainsburys Expresses, you are thinking. Can I answer that question with a question of my own? I will ask..And you would probably point out that your initial utterance was a statement and not a question. But you’re right – that’s not why you are here. And the only reason I was aspousing the virtues of the place was that due to the positive experience I thought that getting a Nectar card would be a good idea as I would probably be spending some coin there over the rest of eternity working in this cum-depository. Only despite numerous attempts to register online I was unable to complete the process. “Sorry Error 500 – Server Error. Please Try Again Later” the Nectar website said several time. No fuck off, I hollowly spat back – before trying again later. AND the code in the leaflet with the card didn’t work. I ask you, what has a man to do to register a loyalty card with one of Britain’s leading supermarkets? The answer is not much if the store in question is Tesco. Fuck you Sainsburys. But yes, I will continue to shop at your new store whilst receiving absolutley no reward for doing so. You cunts.
I don’t know if this was the start of a growing rage but later on at football I would do something I have never done before. There was a lad through on goal and even though I think I would have caught up with him (and tackled him: natch) I just twatted his legs from underneath him. Was this the spillover from the Nectar Card debacle? Is this what I have become? After over 25 years playing football at varying non-impressive levels had the frustration of life finally crept in to my play? I had never done this before, and I used to be a defender: where hacking people down is almost necessary (unless you are brilliant and cultured, like me and Rio Ferdinand). Is this the power of failing to register a loyalty card? No. No, it’s not. I think this lad is a twat – he calls me Paul even though it must be obvious my name is Phil (by people shouting stuff like “Phil that was amazing”, “Phil you are the only man in the world capable of such skill” and “Phil even though those shorts are not particularly tight it’s clear your cock is massive..and I don’t mean you’ve got a stiff-on playing football, you’ve just got a large member”). And he thinks he is a lot better than he is. Not something you could accuse me of. Anyway, I twatted him good and proper. Are you proud?
I also missed out on opportunity to do a great comeback gag. There was a point in the game where this tall cunt (he is one) gave a free-kick away (he is a cunt: he wears a city shirt). Rather than just hand me the ball he held it up high – out of my reach. See, I told you he was a cunt. Oh right you are laughing at his joke and not my remark. Anyway he did that and I said something really composed like “you’re fucking hilarious mate” (and I didn’t even mean the ‘mate’ bit). Then at the end of the game he asked me for his keys back – which he had left in my bag. I should have thrown them on the floor and made some comment about them being too low for him to reach. That would have shown him the tall city cunt. (I had already had the last laugh as he made a big deal out of stopping my attempted nutmeg earlier in the game and I scored past him PUTTING THE BALL THROUGH HIS STUPID TALL LEGS HAHAHAHA).
I am not a bitter pathetic little bastard.