These Idle Thumbs

As promised, an utterly brilliant guest post from Mr Murray, who will be welcome back any time. Enjoy


In the absence of our fearless leader, who’s traipsing around doing her bit for Anglo-German-Oirish relations, I have been parachuted in to commandeer the squeakosphere and keep this blog ticking over. Think of me as something of a caretaker, a janitor, if you will. Though instead of fetching balls from the school roof, confiscating d!rty mags and bustin’ smokers in the bike shed, I’m more just popping in to check the windows are shut and run the taps for a bit. Turns out the theme of this blog, as the heading above points out and stops me dead in my typing tracks, is Berlin – of which I know a big, fat, clinically obese zero about. Clutching at straws, I recall seeing a movie called Munich, once, many moons ago, but that’s as geographically and as culturally close as I come to firsthand experience. My only knowledge of Berlin is what I have read on here: there’s an awful graffiti problem (called street-art in Germany, presumably the handiwork of the above-mentioned bike-shed dwelling delinquents), there’s a ‘Dom’, and there’s a suspicious sounding place called the Sausage Palace. I think I’ve seen it in one of the d!rty mags I confiscated. So while she’s teaching folk in Berlin, she’s simultaneously educating corn-chewing, petrol-sucking country bumpkins like me back in Blighty.

Anyway; the blog. She’s left behind a bit of a mess here, if I’m to be honest. There’s a bucket of exclamation marks spilt all over the floor, a drawer marked ‘punktuation’ lying wide open, coffee-cup marks on the log-in page and an assortment of German words scattered over the keyboard. I wouldn’t mind tidying up, it’s no bother really, but I’m only here in caretaker capacity. Check the windows. Run the taps. Plus I wouldn’t know where to put words like schadenfreude – which could be anything from a hilarious insult to some continental breakfasty thingy eaten in Germany. Like a croissant with a sausage in it. Dipped in beer.

I don’t really have anything of interest to report, promote or even convincingly rant about. But I promised I’d put these idle thumbs to use and contribute something. Anything to look forward to? Um, not really. The summer I suppose. Ah, the summer. Here it comes – galloping into town, flanked by a legion of cheap crappy barbeques, shirtless middle-aged monkey-men with their red-raw mansacks on display, and refined, chic ‘ladies’ in floral frocks peeing in public-park bushes.

Yup, the summer.

I’ve waded through seven dense, dark murky months of misery to arrive at this point, the onset of the sunshine season, so I intend to make it last and stretch every last shimmering sunbeam out of it, hence why I’ve been sporting shorts, shades and sun-block since Mid-March, and lying face-down drunk in the park since early April. Summer clothing has issues though. Shorts don’t suit me/I don’t suit shorts; my legs are so white I look like I’ve spent the majority of my life as a Shawshank’s inmate. Whiter than an episode of Midsomer Murders, these pins. Can’t understand, nor stand, flip-flops. Not because I don’t suit them – you can’t really not suit flip-flops – but because they are the single most impractical, uncomfortable, pointless brain-fart mankind has ever let rip. You don’t wear them; your toes carry them. The pages of history are littered with reasons against them. The Greeks and Romans famously marched on them, and their empires collapsed because going into battle in flip-flops was simply asking for trouble. The ill-fated folk of Pompeii perished because running in flip-flops was/is virtually impossible. Big JC of Nazareth wore ‘sandals’ (early flip-flops) and he ended up with a nail through his foot. I choose to learn from history and stick with solid, practical German innovation; Adidas.

 Anyway I best shoot, I’m starting to moan, and Her Right Royal Squeakiness will be back soon to commence keyboard battle and resume normal service. In parting, I left a little present of a mixtape for her when she gets back, but the copyright police at busted me for using a track without permission. So I need to run, the net is closing in and sirens are coming into earshot.

That is all.

Have a wonderful summer. See you around.



One thought on “These Idle Thumbs

  1. Pingback: Fame at last « nickysqueaks

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