Life is like boxes of crap.

Ok ok, so it seems Morbo have more tan 2 or 3 readers! OH MY GOD MORBO LOVE YOU ALL! I really mean it. I know I haven't blogged for a wee while, It's been a little hectic chez Keslakia, we've had all manner of things happen over the last week or so, so I guess I will just start ranting at the beginning.

Well, last week I got a promotion at work. Now I am an associate of my lovely firm that I just love. I have been given lots of new projects that rock, and I'm going to get a nice new big desk. Yippee. If you think I've been out celebrating, think again. I've actually started bringing work home, which isn't all that bad. Its something I have always struggled with, because I'm essentially a lazy bastard and I believe that home is for me time.

So what sucks right now? Well, the busses, for a start. Don't even get me onto how much the rush hour still gets to me. But I somehow have managed this week, dear reader, to put those piffling trifles aside in the context of what has happened to me as I hurtle through this crazy old London musical, in dance pants and character pumps.

It all started last weekend when we licked ahem picked up more than a small car that took us off to Heathrow to collect our boxes of freight that Freddy had sent through the week. We crammed them all into the car and 79 hours later we arrived home with our bootie just to have to lug all 100 kg up our stairs. Ignoring 15 years of osteopathic treatment, I strained, and pulled and heaved ( activities I am usually very good at ) the damned things all the way up. Morbo was truly foolish.

Thankfully, the pain didn't manifest itself until 3 days later when I was in the shower at the gym. The gym shower is usually a steaming, heaving (there I go again) male Pantheon of flexing muscles and simmering glances; guys walking slowly around checking out each other, a bit like Steamworks, so I'm told.

So imagine my embarrassment as I huddle out of the shower, dripping wet, grimacing with so much pain to render me totally unable to dress myself. In a scene like something out of an American Pie film, I dried off and began to dress, only to become totally entangled in my own underpants and falling flat on the floor. That's me, all glamour.

I think I probably should have gone home right then, but I was just too busy at work, having all these new responsibilities, and so much to prove and all. A lovely colleague took me to Boots to get me some painkillers. You cant even get Voltarin here, its mad, all I could get was Ibuprofen, which, in this case is kind of like rubbing rose hip oil on a shark bite.

To make matters worse, I came out of the gym and headed to my favourite coffee chop to get a real coffee (not that lactose imbalanced poisoned International roast flavoured beverage they have the nerve to call coffee in this country) and the f***ing s*** b**** behind the counter actually went to serve me American style burned filtered shit in a jug. All the pain and fear and resentment of my shower humiliation came out in one big long Morbo style bark ... "NOOOOOOOO" it made her ...and even myself ...jump.



Never was the term have nice cup of tea and a lay down more approporiate at this point. Needless to say, since then, I have spent much time resting, £50 on a visit to the Osteopath and countless hours whining to anyone who will listen. At least it's taken my mind off the friggin BUSSES for a moment.

NNNNGGGGGG MORBO WISHES YOU ALL GOOD NIGHT.