For the past fortnight or so, my grandfather has been seriously ill, so a lot of my life recently has been spent travelling to and from the hospital. My last visit was on Sunday, which was two days ago. I wished I'd stayed in bed.
I was short of funds, so I thought that I'd go to the cashpoint en route. The fucker ate my card. I was absolutely potless, so I had to drag my poorly ( though, admittedly, not as poorly as Gramps) partner, the mighty Miss Maus out of her sickbed to come to the city centre and get me some money. After I met up with her and got some funds, we decided to grab a bite of lunch before I carried on with my quest to see my Granddad. On the way to some grub, what appeared to be the last surviving archaeoptyryx shat on both shoulders of my coat. Swearing profusely, I nipped to a pub to get rid of the excrement, which funnily (and runnily) enough, was two colours. The shite on my right shoulder was a chocolatey brown. The shite on my left shoulder was white. Maybe it was two different prehistoric flying reptiles. So, I'm in the toilet of a public house, washing my coat (whilst still wearing it) a good lather of hand soap on each shoulder, with Sunday afternoon drinkers coming in wondering: a) What is that wanker having a wash with his clothes on for? and b) Can you smell pterodactyl turd?
Anyway, one outwear ablution later, I finally get on the bus to the hospital.
When I get there, my granddad's name isn't on the wall. Fearing the worst, I ask the staff nurse what's happened to him. She tells me that he was sent home on the day before. Whilst I was glad that he was well enough to go home, I was fuming that no fucker could be arsed to inform me of the fact. I'd travelled all that way, lost my debit card, and got shat on by an airborne ostrich for absolutely fuck all. Then I remembered that getting crapped on is supposed to be lucky! So, whilst on the bus home, I excitedly got the unchecked lottery ticket out of my wallet. I got the winning numbers on my mobile phone, and would you believe it?