A less than Happy ginger day.
As you can see from the expression on the ginger beebee, this is a most peculiar sort of Gingerday, full of fretful oddness and mild worry. Firstly can a Gingerday be a Gingerday with no pubs open? What are 90% of the population to do come quitting time? What are the people to do? Wither the sense of 'nearly there'?
Oh I know not everything should be about hooch, but really-if my two months on the dry taught me anything- it taught me Sunday to Tursday is ideal hoochless, but a Gingerday without hooch is a poor sort of day.
After a long week shouldn't the working stiff have somewhere to go to shake off the shackles of workly oppression and drown their civic responsibility in hoochy love? There ought to be. It ought to be written into the constitution. But no, 2008 and Good Friday ( what is so good about it I wonder?) means the god damned bars are closed.
I wonder what Smurf does when he's not serving up delicious foamy beers and limey rums? I've never given it any thought before. I'm no even sure I should BE thinking about it? I doubt Smurf would appreciate it either. We have a perfect relationship as is. I go to his bar on Gingerday, he serves me delicious hooch, I give him my money. We pass some pleasantries and then we forget about each other until next round. It's a finely balanced respectful relationship. And today it has been trifled with.
They had to go fuck with Gingerday. Oh religion, is there no end to your nefarious ways?
I am glumly going to go into my kitchen now, where the paramour is cooking a ginormous fry.
Sigh I say, sigh.