What’s even more annoying than arriving to pick up a courtesy car without a driving licence? Finding out that, in fact, you had it all along, nestling in the overnight bag THAT YOU HAD OVER YOUR SHOULDER.

Blimey. First Pete Townshend, now Matthew Kelly. Just 2 politicians, another TV presenter and another rock star to go…*

* i refer you all to the post I made about a year ago – it’s the News of The World game again, back with a vengence…

The service assistant was very helpful as I handed over my car keys.
I’d left work 2 hours early and driven 60 miles back from Head Office to get to the garage before they all went home, and my poor car was tested to the limit as I raced for Stag Hill Motors. I smiled as I got there just in the nick of time.
“I’ve come to collect my courtesy car”, I explained. He duly filled out all the various forms, ticking every conceivable box. Finally, he looked up, and said, “Do you have your driving licence, sir?”
I find that even at the grand old age of 24 I’m still learning about life’s little foibles. It was my first time getting a courtesy car. Of course I didn’t have my driving licence – I never carry it around. If my car was ever broken into, the thief would have access to all sorts of things with the licence. And anyway, the same garage only sold the car to me a mere 5 months ago – isn’t it obvious I have a licence?
As these thoughts turned in my head, the assistant again asked the question. “No, I don’t,” I replied, “shouldn’t you have told me I needed it?” The young bloke behind the counter reeled. “Well, sir…” “I’ve just driven several hundreds of miles to get here,” I exaggerated. The man, obviously tuning into my unpleasant riposte, busily searched through files. “Well, the best I can do is next Thursday.”
I gave in to the inevitably of it all, stomped off and drove home especially fast, just for the hell of it.

So, this weekend then.
Well, Friday night was cinema night, with Michelle and I going to the Odeon in Guildford to watch Gangs of New York. Very, very good, all 3 hours of it. Most impressed. Got out at 1.30am to see police around The Drink nightclub, and thought nothing more until the next morning, when this story surfaced about Girls Aloud causing havoc in Guildford. Already. My contact (sounds good, doesn’t it…) says The Drink got ?7500 for selling the story on Saturday afternoon – if only I’d though of it…
Saturday night heralded Elli’s 23rd birthday party, with plenty of memorable moments again. They’re all listed in Jac’s now infamous website jonola14.co.uk. I can always tell it’s been a great party when it take the rest of the following day to recover…

Want to send me something nice? Here’s my amazon.co.uk Wishlist.*

*Whoever devised the Wishlist and Recommendations on Amazon deserves a very large badge. It’s a brilliant way of finding new things you might like. I apparently should buy albums from Vertical Horizon, Third Eye Blind and Nine Days next…

“Any petrol, sir?”
“No, just the newspaper please,” I replied, deep in thought about the morning’s upcoming tasks.
As I strolled out to my car, the early morning mist swirled round the forecourt, enveloping the car like a bandage. I noted that for once I was on time for work, and that I could have a leisurely drive into Guildford, and a decent amount of time to find a parking space. I drove off, and noticed the cashier waving at me. “What nice people this time of morning,” I thought, noting that at 7.15am, it was most unusual to find a person waving at you. As I eased the car into 3rd gear and raced onto the motorway, I noticed the pleasingly full petrol gauge.
The pleasingly full petrol gauge. Oh god. My mind screamed with the sheer illegality of what I had just done – filled my car up with petrol, and raced off without paying. I had passed 2 junctions before I recovered enough to attempt to find a slip road to turn round in. I had to pass the garage again in order to get back to the junction before, so I could get on the right side of the dual carriageway. As I passed, I saw two middle-aged men running around the forecourt, searching for the non-paying fugitive. Here I am, I thought, as I battled against the ice to get there before the police turned up in riot vans.
I finally entered the garage just as a burly security guard was dialling Constable Jenkins. The cashier explained as I handed over 43 pounds that she was just about to be sacked, and was very relieved that I’d turned up. In some roundabout and highly odd logic, I explained that I actually had done her a favour. She seemed very happy with that, and off I trundled, smirking at my audacity.
By then, of course, I was late for work.

Deer oh deer (groan) – how on earth did this happen?

An awful lot of people write in to wibbler.com who say that they would have loved to write some comments on the posts that pop up occasionally here, or contribute to the site in some way, but they didn’t think they should. But you see, that’s what the comments link is there for – a chance to tell everyone what on earth you’re thinking, ask why on earth I could have posted something so dull, and what on earth I was doing going to a pantomime when I’m 24 years old. It melts my butter to see new people tapping their thoughts/criticisms/downright rudeness into this little site, so, come on, don’t be afraid.
Although of course if this post doesn’t get any comments, then this subtly turns into an ironic statement…

SNOW! Brilliant.

*ring* *ring*
“Hello mate.”
“Ah, Shunta, how are you?”
“Well, fine. Apart from the soft tissue damage to my left foot.”
And so it goes with Shunta. His tried-and-tested shock approach has been well-worn over the years, but always manages to catch me unawares. It turns out he has no idea how he did it, so I couldn’t even get a story out of him.
As I’m reporting on friends:
Jac has finally settled down into his new job at Renault, spreading his seed and quietly planning to take over the company with the minimum of fuss, while supplying me with enough anecdotes to justify the expense of the blasted wibbler.com servers.
Nick has changed his car, house and financial status in the past week. He upped sticks and left his bachelor pad in Aldershot about a week ago, making a tidy ?55,000 profit. More to spend on me then, tremendously. He’s moving in to a new, bigger bachelor pad in Woking with a friend, buying a new car (a Peugeot 206 CC cabriolet, the bastard) AND has rid himself of a girlfriend. Crikey.
Shunta is still engaged (all bets are now off), and managing to settle down remarkably well to a life of marital bliss in Cranleigh.
And me? Still trundling along, scraping by on the financial pittance I have spare a month, trying to find a nice place in Guildford to calm my bank manager down. I’m quietly waiting for a lottery win.