I promised myself I wouldn’t start a blog unless I went travelling again because, let’s be honest, no one can truthfully say that reading my ridiculous ramblings is how they’d like to spend their time. However, a series of unfortunate events made me look at my life as something hilarious that should be shared with the world.
Somehow, (and I refuse to accept that it is down to my oblivious nature/utter lack of common sense), life always seems to find a way to laugh at me. I lost 6 phones in a year, basically destroyed my university kitchen, and once managed to cut chunks out of my hair instead of washing it. And I don’t believe in bad luck so I can only assume that my purpose in life is to set an example to others of how not to do things.
One of the things that makes me a joke is my car, which we’ll call Alfred. I think my car epitomizes my life. It’s like an extra limb that causes me much stress but could never really be separated from me. The mother once suggested that we scrap it so I could drive her old car and I cried. Yes, actually cried. Over a 1988 Seat Marbella of the kind usually favoured by old fat Italian men. God knows how they fit in it. So you’ll understand why when someone decided to take a shit on it I wasn’t best pleased.
I am including a picture of the beauty that is Alfred simply for your viewing pleasure. And so you can picture the story I am about to tell which kick-started my week of mayhem [hullabaloo]. Now you can imagine that when people pass by my car they don’t just look, they stare. As in on the motorway a car will pass me and every single person in that car will turn around and laugh. So when a car of surfer dudes behind me started laughing, we laughed along. Yes, my car is hilarious, ha ha.
But we slowly realised that they weren’t just laughing, they were in hysterics. So when we got out of the car we were slightly reluctant to walk around it and see what was so funny. And what did we find but a shit so massive it couldn’t be human. And yet it had to be. Random people started coming up to me and asking if they could take photos of it. But all I could do was leave it there and spend the rest of the day at the beach wondering how in hell I was going to get rid of it. We bought a child’s spade and attempted to shovel it off without much luck; one of the girls threw some tissues at it which surprisingly didn’t help. In the end we took it to a jetwash for operation get this shit off my car.
After the poo debacle all I could think was, surely this day can’t get worse. But apparently it could. That same day, someone landed on my head whilst trying to crowdsurf, and I got beaten up by a Newquay chav outside KFC. And later that week the restaurant I work in set on fire. But when it comes down to it, all you can do is laugh. Because life is too short to let some poo on your car ruin your day.