I can happily use a De La Soul album as a title, because this blog is about me, and not some bloke out there called Martin. You see, Martin is a mate of mine and if he had a blog, he would no doubt bemoan his misfortune at having broken his ankle a couple of days ago and fucking up his holiday plans.
Nonetheless, this isn't his blog; it is mine, and I can crowbar some personal angst at his hobbling expense as that motherfucker was to be my compadre in arms in 9 days time when we had (past tense) a holiday of a lifetime in Warsaw and Krakow, Poland; Prague, Czech Republic; Vienna, Austria; Bratislava, Slovakia and, to round the trip off, Budapest, Hungary.
This morning at work, I received an email. It was in that email that I discovered that Martin had managed to break his ankle fleeing from a speeding car and cannot now attend this glittering holiday. I am therefore about to take a break from sodding work, sodding life and sodding me by accompanying myself and myself alone as I traverse those six fine cities on me Jack.
Yes Martin, if you're reading this, and chances you are, I feel for you man. It's a pisser. A real, unpleasant pisser. It's a double whammy pisser too, as it's impacted on your holiday.
But needs must, because I am a stubborn, obstinate fuck. I will bankrupt myself going it alone and effectively paying double for hostel rooms and cabs and the like, but go it alone I shall, wandering streets by myself, looking at women from a gathering of one, and drinking in bars like a forlorn lonely twat.
Because I'm going abroad - on my own, y'know - I will still miss the wedding of my close friends Phil and Natalie, and my seventy-eighth nuptials of the year. I did consider staying in Britain so I could attend, but the flights are booked, I've been looking forward to this trip for months, and barring one fantastic, emotional day, I would only waste the rest of my time in front of the TV above a chemists in west London.
So that's that. It could be a wonderful adventure, and that's my main reason for sticking to my guns. Plus I'll have more time to spend in Warsaw researching my paternal family, the Ebolaviches, as they were Poles; Polish born and bred, then gassed by the fucking Nazis.
Tomorrow is the beginning of Phil's two-day stag extravaganza in London, my five-billionth stag of 2008. I can't wait. Even better is the fact that my boss is going on holiday himself next week and we have to work til 10pm on Friday night to get up to speed.
Coming Soon: The Adventures Of A Pale Fucknut Tourist Wandering Aimlessly Around Foreign Cities Looking Lost And Not Having Sex.
***This post was brought to you by the opposite of schadenfreude (Joyful Shame?) and is dedicated to Martin, the hobbling, malingering, car-dodging Northern fuckbugger.***