So, there I was, minding my own business, just changing the roll on one of the big, heavy camera-type things that they use on the sets of films - I work in the film industry, you see, which explains how I'm always getting off with actresses and make-up artistes and costume women and the like (sort of comes with the territory, like) - and next thing I know, this rather attractive Swedish actress bird's sidled up to me and is giving it all the big come on...."hello zere big boy...I vish you could be inserting zere zomezing *beeek* into *me* instead of zere camera-type zing..." you know, the usual cliches that horny, sex-mad Swedish birds come up with when they're trying to cop off with an assistant camera stud with a schlong the length of Hattie Jacques haunches after a marathon Battenburg binge. Well, you know how it is. I'd barely unzipped when she's writhing beneath me on the floor of the store cupboard where we keep all the empty film cannisters and that (well, it looks good doesn't it? It's all digital now, but a cardboard DVD slip on doesn't have the same romance as a tin with a few frames poking out....)"
You know, the usual. Well, cut a long story short, she's making such a racket down there that I start to lose concentration on the job in hand and my mind wonders on to the forthcoming England qualifier against Macedonia. Will Rooney rediscover his best form in time? Will Wright-Phillips get a chance to shine for his country now that Beckham is no longer hogging the right flank. Is McLaren the right man for the job. I mean it's all very well having had a good start - which he has - but will he be able to turn a game with a deft substitution when a major tournament reaches the knockout phase? You know the sort of thing.
So, where was I? Oh yes, I'm pumping away for what seems like hours when I suddenly remember that I forgot to post off the television licence. Which starts me wondering if they'll send the detector van round. You must have seen all those adverts with the threatening "we know where you live..." type voice over and do you know something? I've never seen one! Never met anyone who's ever been paid a call by them either. In all these years. It starts you to thinking, doesn't it? I mean do they even exist? It's like the tax office. I just got a demand in from the Tax Office (IHT section) for the remainder of the inheritence tax we owed them. We sent the revised estimate back in May and they've just sent us the adjusted calculation now - beginning of October. So that's 5 months to process one form. I mean, do they employ *any* staff at all in that place? It was the Belfast office. They're probably too busy bickering with each other to get any work done. You know - pass this to the arrogant fenian in the corner there would you? Bugger off you orange arsed wanker. Fisticuffs ensue. And who suffers? The taxpayer as always. 300 quid in interest it's cost us - just because a few Catholics and Protestants can't put the past behind them. Still, can't be much fun working in a workplace riven assunder by sectarian hatred and age old animosities, I suppose.
Anyway, I'm digressing. What was I talking about before? Oh, that's right - the spunky Swedish bird. Yeah, in the end, I must've banged for about 20 minutes before withdrawing and jizzing all over her tum. Nice one.
Well, beats working, doesn't it?
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