"I scream, you scream, and everyone's creaming it off down in Cornwall..."
So, this fair morrow I was off watching time-wimey exy mensies, which was cool, but then I went off to the Longwater fête in Costessey.
Now, Sarah Connor famously carved "no fête" on a table in the Mexico desert, because she was fed up at the lack of local banditos having a shootout over a piñata whilst guzzling down Tequila and trying not to spill Chilli Burritos all down your poncho. So son John read it, and realised she meant "no fête except that what you make for yourself" and had buggered off to do a car boot with Miles Dyson. Or do Mike Dyson on a car boot. Either way, she intended to prevent him creating an assassinatory machination of murderous cyborgian hoovers.
Anyhoo, whilst tramping about the fête and mingling with various groups of aquaintances¹, I came upon another revelation.
Queues at food vending venues are exponentially proportional to the volume and quantity of purchases!
Now, this came about due to yet another poor quality food service and pissmidget queuejumping twatwankers. To whit², queueing for ages to get a maple syrup & bacon waffle, waiting impatiently in line, and as the people in front are being served, some baldy fat cunt walks up to the front as if perusing the menu board, and as the chef hands over the chocolatey waffles - the portly pigfucker just orders his vast tonne of grub, the greedy fat cunt, much to the chagrin of all those in the queue. And he got served too, the selfish cockgobbling twatbag!!
Anyhoo, when lardbucket fucks off, protectively clutching his multiple snacks and wolfing them down as he barges through the busy thoroughfare, I finally gets to be served:
"I'll have the Americano - mmmm, maple syrup and bacon!"
"Sorry mate, ain't got no bacon!"
Well, I would have made complaint, but as I'm in all manner of doghouses at present for legitimately complaining, I kept me great fat gob shut tight, stropped off, and went looking for ice-cream.
Now - if you want an ice-cream, and there's no queue - you wander up, buy an ice-cream, done.
If there's a person just in front, they will buy 2 ice-creams.
If there are three, each will buy three. Eventually. For each will stop to persuse the pictures of the ices on display before deciding on 3 99s.
If there's four people in the queue, you then note each order more than 4 ices, spend ages umming and ahhing over the menu, then spend ages going through their change to work out what sizes they can afford. And it's always loose change - never notes.
There was a fair few in front of me, and I noted each was buying multiple multiples of icey treats.
The couple in front of me bought 10 ice creams. TEN! TWO people, bought TEN! You know how long it takes to work out the cost of 10x £1.80, then slowly use the slow sludge dispenser, recieve each and holler out for someone to push through the throng and retrieve their ice-cream, and once all ices dispensed then start counting out your coppers?
Fucking ages!
And the Red Bull flavour ice-cream wasn't worth £2.30, I'll tell you that for nowt!!
Still, quicker than the bloody waffle stand, that cooked waffles to order. Two at a time. Then spent time trimming the waffles with scissors before spending ages slowly decorating the delicate creations.
And after they'd finished shaving their vadge and facepainting on a vajazzle, they spent ages cutting the edges off the brevilled batter and applying various adhesive liquids and toppings.
But a fun day out though... despite having to purchase a Shania Twain CD in front of my friends, and ruining all my street cred.
Yeah, I'm an old-school Goth... and I likes Shania Twain too. So ner.
¹ MAKING SURE I SPEND TIME WITH EVERYONE, SO NO-ONE FEELS LEFT OUT, SNUBBED, IGNORED, AND GETS ALL HUFFITY WITH ME, AS IS THE CURRENT TREND AT THE MOMENT. HOWEVER, I DID MISS OUT THE PHWOARDER, THROUGH NO FAULT OF MY OWN. BUT ON THE PLUS SIDE, ANOTHER OF THE TRIPLICITY OF ULTIMATE PRETTIES WAS PRESENT, SO... SWINGS AND ROUNDABOUTS, REALLY. WELL, CENTRIFUGAL WALLS OF DEATH & CALLIOPE CAROUSEL HORSES.
² TO WHO? TO THE STALL WHO WERE OFFERING £3 TO STROKE A BIRD. ONLY £3 TO RUFFLE AN OWL'S FEATHERS, WHICH SEEMS PRETTY CHEAP COMPARED TO THEM LADIES TRAINED IN THOSE ARTS THAT AMUSE MEN YOU SEE ON CRIMWATCH AND THE BILL.
THEY DID HAVE A REALLY CUTE LITTLE OWL THOUGH. LOOKED LIKE A FLUFFY PENGUIN. I WANTS ONE!
"BUT XYM, THEY'RE NOCTURNAL. THEY'LL KEEP YOU UP ALL NIGHT"
"I WOULDN'T MIND A BIRD KEEPING ME UP ALL NIGHT" ETC ETC...
