Bath

Like a young Christina Aguillera, my heart said no, but my body said let’s go when I bought about a pint of egg-salad sandwich spread the first day I stayed in Bath. Now my arteries are coated with Marks & Spencer freerange arterial plaque and it’s so good. Some people dismiss egg as a lesser sandwich filling but it pretty much perfectly compliments the feeling of thick, nauseous fucking fear you get when you’re starting a new job. So between eating egg-filling in sandwiches, and spooning egg-filling into my mouth with the one teaspoon the Travelodge supplied me with, what I remember of going to Bath is pretty much limited to eggs.

But if you haven’t actually been to Bath before, it’s really lovely and I really suggest you head over there for a day. It’s the kind of city where legally midgets need to be forced to live and dress up as elves. There’s even a part of it called Lilliput Lane. In fact, so far Bath is sort of the Yin to Southampton’s Thatcherian pisshole Yang. Because where S. seemed to be the operational headquarters for England’s chavs and old ships, Bath is definitely populated by fairies, and combined that pretty much makes up my mental image of Blighty.

It turned out the job at Xbox World 360 went really decently in the end. It basically involved writing endlessly while being told I’m not actually shit: my two favourite things. I wrote some rubbish about Crysis 2, so when that hits the shelves feel free to email the editor to tell him I am the heart and soul of that magazine and that reading my article taught you to love again.

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About DreadfulBlog
A devilish combination of slightly bored and quite hungry

One Response to Bath

  1. JFSHE says:

    O.O;

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