Ladies and gentleman, you're witnessing history today - I have not waited two to three years to lovingly create two consecutive posts. I know, this is huge. For those of you who know my address, please send champagne and/or money to mark the occasion.
That being said, this is going to be a relatively short post as I'm just trying to get a head start on one of my new years resolutions, which is use this blog as a place to dump all of my rage on a more frequent basis. I'm an absolute saint, aren't I?
So, will this pint-sized post be about hot topics like UK referendum, Trump getting his enormous tangerine face in the White House, or the general poor state of the world and how my faith in humanity has all but diminished?
Nah, fam. Don't you just hate Christmas shopping?
I actually do most of mine online, both ensuring that I can largely stay in my pyjamas unless I'm buying something fancy (then I put on a dress before heading to the virtual checkout), and that I don't risk giving everyone in the vicinity a black eye.
An awesome fact about me is I'm not very good at leisurely browsing shops at the best of times. When I head into town of an afternoon, I usually have a very firm idea of what I'm going in to buy, meaning that I can head straight to the shop(s) that I know sell a particular product(s), pick it up, pay, and get the fuck out.
I am magnificent.
However, trying to do this during the most wonderful time of the year scuppers this approach, as I have to contend with hordes of slow-walking, suddenly-stopping tosspots, who don't appear to have even the slightest speck of spatial awareness. I should mention that when it comes to the elderly and the disabled, I genuinely have all the patience in the world. It's everyone else who need to learn that they are not the only people trying to grab some last minute shit before Christmas.
Today, I was walking, exasperated, out of Swansea Market weighed down with several tonnes of carrots and potatoes. I had already got through an assault course of mid-aisle hovering wankers unscathed, and my task of last minute shit-grabbing was almost complete. Suddenly, the bloke I was walking behind recognised another bloke coming into the market, and stopped dead in front of the entrance to talk to him. Much handshaking and hugging ensued, while these two guys, blissfully unaware that they were now blocking the entire market doorway, began having a good old catch up.
This is the type of stuff that drives me up the wall.
By all means, if you spot someone you know and want to stop to talk, please do. This is not a crime punishable by death in my book. The problem I have is that people by and large seem to be under the impression that they are the last humans left on earth, and no one else could possibly be in the vicinity. They therefore see no issue in shuffling slowly down a narrow aisle, or stopping in their tracks to look at a shop's window display, or to catch up with "Tony", who I now know has had terrible trouble with his Ford Focus of late, in the fucking middle of a busy market doorway.
So Santa, if you're reading this, all I want for Christmas is for people to have a quick glance around themselves every now and again to make sure that they're not holding the population of Swansea up while they contemplate what socks to buy their other half. I can't see Mariah Carey being tempted to do another version of her Christmas classic centred around this topic, but frankly she should.
Oh, and people need to stop taking 10 minutes to use a cashpoint. You can't operate this machine via mind control, so stop simply staring at the screen while thoughtfully rubbing your chin. It goes - pin number, cash, amount, fuck off.
Have a peaceful Christmas, everyone, yeah?
