April 23rd, 2011 at 6:43 pm by Stupid Rubbish

You know I wonder what the f*ck is wrong with me sometimes.

I used to play a bit of football, I wasn’t bad, I enjoyed it. I think my first ever toy was a football and I guess my second was probably a pair of tiny football boots.

It’s in my blood.

My Father was a decent player as was his Father before him.

If it wasn’t for an extremely unpleasant injury a few years back I would still be playing. You know, pub sides, fun, in it for the laugh and the social side – keep in shape, still got a few things to show the young ‘uns too.

Etc.

But here is the thing, why is it that the part of my brain that can control a football, f*cking insists on taking the controls of the entire me, whenever I drop f*ckING ANYTHING AT ALL?

For f*cks SAKE.

I was just handed a mobile phone by a relative stranger in a public place, because he wanted me to take a photograph of him and his wife. As he handed me the phone it was much much smoother and smaller than I had internally predicted in my headbrain.

As entered my hand it slipped through, falling towards my feet – towards the GRASS at my feet.

My first reaction?

I tried to take the pace off it with my f*cking size 12 foot.

Tried to take the pace off it.

I only f*cking connected with it and kicked the bastard ten feet past the couple ONTO A CONCRETE PATH.

How the f*cking hell do I explain away what they just witnessed me do?

You know what?

I don’t.

I just walk the f*ck away. Shaking my head. Again.

Honest to God I need to stop doing this sh!t.

One Response to “Stay on your feet.”

  1. Sadie says:

    Do not under any circumstances ever handle my phone