Pink Plastic

I have been reliably informed that my latest blog reads like a emotional 13 year old girls diary. I, in retrospect, agree and have taken it upon myself to do better. No more bitching and moaning from me.


So I had another driving test and it went brilliantly. This time instead of evil old Santa Claus, I was presented with a new examiner..... a lady examiner. With my charm and powers of seduction I thought to myself, (and aloud to my instructor) there was no way she could fail me. Not with a smile like mine. I could ignore the priorities at roundabouts, I could forget to change down a gear, I could even hit the curb and she would still pass me. Not only that, she would also fall at my feet and beg me to drive her to the nearest premiere inn for an hour of passion.

I'm pretty sure she must be married to Brad Pitt or something because she was, as it turned out, resistant to my bedroom eyes. Either that or she's a lesbian. The notion that she might actually be a single, straight woman and find me unattractive is simply inconceivable. Women loving me is like maggots loving apples. It's just in their nature. If I begin to believe otherwise I'm not sure my ego could take it.

It seems that roundabouts are incorrectly named. The wording 'roundabout' suggests a vagueness that does not suit the situation.

Harmonica: "How far away is the station?"

Moist: "Oh the station. I know. Well, it’s aROUND ABOUT a mile in that direction."

Whilst driving today the lovely examiner politely requested that I take a right at the roundabout ahead. I came to the natural conclusion that I would go in ROUNDABOUT the right direction. Apparently this is "dangerous". I also decided, given the slap-dash naming of the 'roundabout' that I would wait roughly, about, approximately, aROUND ABOUT the correct amount of time for traffic approaching from the right to manoeuvre. Who decides why Mr Rover gets priority over me is a mystery but one certainty is blitzing it out in front of him is also considered "dangerous." Well let me tell you something DVLA. Life is dangerous and if you can't deal with the driving titan that is me then you better get off the roads. Driving isn't for pansies. I laugh in the face of danger, and gear changes, and steering.

Anyway where was I? Oh yeah. Roundabouts should actually be called Exactabouts. Then I would know precisely how to deal with the situation. Had the beautiful lady to my left announced,

"Moist, I want you to turn right at the Exactabout coming up ahead. Bear in mind that it’s an EXACTabout."

I would have acted appropriately

"Oh so you want me to change down a gear, get a nice early look, approach from the right hand lane then wait for that Rover to go. Got ya."

Was that so hard DVLA?

I have booked another test. (am also considering a change of lucky pants)

Driving test attempts. 3

Failed attempts: I'd rather not say.

One piece of fantastic news is that I have now got my laptop fixed and pornputer is back on the nightshift. The computer techies at uni live on the top floor of the tallest building on campus. Much like Dracula’s tower and the hunchback of Notre Dame’s cathedral they are separated and shunned by normal society. I approached with caution. Not wanting to feel out of place or computer illiterate, I attempted to discuss the problems my computer was having without using the phrase

"I watched a whole load of porn and now it’s beyond fucked."

Instead, I made an effort to copy as much as I could from films that I had seen with computers in, like The Matrix.

“Yeah, I think what happened was it got all corrupted and shit. I mean it used to have like, a load of gigabites and all the rams and now it’s just like it has no rams at all"

I don't think they bought it. However they were really pretty sweet and for the small (gulp) price of 70 smackeroos I have all the rams back.

GIGABYTES on my hard drive; 250

Moistometer: 7/10 pretty freaking moist outside