Im making this post a sort of short compendium of various other post styles we have done in the past.
Kitty just a week ago had a classic morning of terrorism. I awoke and decided to make myself scares by venturing down to the shower before we could exchange "pleasantries" however i was collared and requested to bring up a cup of tea and toast for her, i jumped straight to the task with thumbs up and manic yet sleepy nodding hoping that my compliance and eventual return with the foodstuffs would either A) buy me some sort of mood immunity or B) fill her mouth with toast long enough to slope off to the shower. I return after making the tea and toast (and coffee for myself) to a closed door in which a voice instructed me to leave the goods for collection in the doorway (it was very much like the pizza situation in home alone 1 "you filthy animal"). The toast was silently collected and door once again shut firmly. I sat on the stairs to drink my coffee in silence after realizing entering the room after such a dramatic and frosty transaction would be argument suicide. After a couple of minutes enjoying looking out the window on the stairwell and drinking my drink i felt the need to cough, i tried with desperation to hold it back as i realized it would alert her to my stairbound position. The cough was made and my cover was blown, a blood pressure raising few seconds passed after the cough as sweat dripped from my brow. And then it came, a booming voice of discontent "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO GO TO THE SHOWER!". Dear god.
Me and kitty went to Pizza Express in Truro for some food on orange wed's as there is a text code that you can get to make it BOGOF on all pizzas and as such cinema tickets. We went to watch oblivion but thats another tale. Although Pizza express is always pretty good quality and the pizza always very nice we found the staff (or one in particular) to be slightly deranged.
Between courses we decided to go outside to smoke. After rolling kitty had obviously dropped her rizzlas on the floor behind her chair as the assumed shift manager of the establishment stood ready to greet us with disgust on our return. She held the Rizzla packet in her hand as if she were holding a childs freshly severed arm (we had just cut off), her face all screwed up and red and full of pure double concentrate hatred. She said but one thing "i think, i think you dropped these". Never before in the history or anything has so little said so much, it was if the surgeon general or head of the nhs had just caught us having a love in "all you can smoke party" where everyone gets naked and has sex and gets pregnant and then calls there children things like "B&H" or "Lambert". We were very disheartened.