Spice.
Sunday, 22 July 2007
Well, it's all gone a bit tits-up whilst I've been off.
Bilbo's hours have been cut, and he's now on staggered starts. There's numerous reasons why, but he hasn't helped his case of late by turning out to be something of a supergrass. Particularly when he tried to put one of the park guys in the crap who's actually probably the most well-liked bloke in security. Big mistake.
I got some terrible news tonight; the new guy has been offered work on the Spice Girls reunion tour and I'm pretty sure I could blag my way in if I wanted to. Six months around the world, all the top hotels, etc, at £200/day plus all expenses paid. You get to be a bodyguard for any one Spice Girl - now, I'd probably get that filthy lezza Mel C instead of the Goddess that is Emma Bunton but at that kind of money, who cares? However, if I take this job on, I might as well sign my divorce papers here and now. Still, I can see myself walking in on a tipsy Bunton whilst she's in the shower and HELLO ten minutes later I'm getting a cracking tit wank.
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Or something. Or possibly it's Mel C and I'll open with some crass line like, "I'll cure you..." It's all good. Or rather, it's not - there's no way it can happen, and hence my heart has now taken on the characteristics and physical weight of a stone.
Team party at work next Sunday - free beer! Nobody has anything bad to say about that.
Earlier, a muslim lady came down to the gates and accused us of being racist. Well, not me and Jabba personally, but security, plural. Actually, it was one chap - the guy who checks passes in the day. Specifically, she said she'd watched him just wave some 'white women' through and then make a big deal about checking the passes of her mother and aunties, who were decked out in their hijabs, etc. "We're not carrying any fucking bombs!", she said, loudly.
I didn't see it so couldn't really comment, but we don't really like the guy who does the days so told her to make a full complaint. The thing was, she was pissed out of her head, and kept on saying that she couldn't go back to her chalet because her mother didn't know she drank - it was forbidden - and that she'd go mental. I thought, you're not really helping your case much, are you love? It then started to rain heavily, so she scurried off, leaving us with the passing words, "You won't remember me in the morning, that's the funny thing!"
Quite.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
