Essex road, 10pm, Wednesday. A true story
You know what the problem wiv gurls is?
Fink they can do everyfink. E for fuckin Everyfink.
Modern Gurls, vat is. Not like my old mum. Proper girl she wuz. But ‘eese modern gurls they’re not like my old mum no more. If my old mum was young naa, right, she wouldn’t be like veese modern gurls.
She’d be like my old mum. But young. Not like veese modern guurls. They’re like they are, not like she be if she was like them, which she wouldn’t be. Ang on.
If my owd mum, yeah, wuz young naa, as yung as these yung gurls is, she’d be a lady. Just my sort a’laydy too.
Laaves Ironin, Laaaves cleanin, Laaaves shoppin, but don’t spend too much of the Aaas-keepin cuz she knows she’s got her dahlin husband t’feed when he comes frew vat door.
Proper Laydy, she’d be. Tell ya, f’my mum was yung naaa, I’d ave er up the duff an in my kitchen sooner ‘n you can say “oh fuckin el, I’m talkin baat shaggin my mum….”
Er. Hang on… Where wuz I? Oh… Yeah…
Oh. Well. She hadn’t got the legs for it. Ha ha ha. Nice arse though.
Only jokin. Avin a larf. Ha ha ha. Like I fink my mum’s got a nice arse.
Er arse wuz like some fat weasels in a sack. Dad, on the ovver ‘and? Laavely andful. Lully arse my dad…
Where wuz I?
Modern Gurls fink they can ave it awl, innit. Job, Sex, Traaasers, Job, Bus Parss, Kiddies, Usband, Blog, Parsport, Cutlery, All’at. And owd the ‘nopoly on multi-tarskin An awl.
Oh, Sorry love. Nah ‘ffence.
Know oo I ad in back o my cab the ovver day? A woman.
An she wuz really nice and wiv er usband, oo wuz also really nice, and they ad a kid, an e wuz really nice, and she wuz tellin me abaat her job, which saaanded really nice, an’en I dropped’em at their flat, which was really nice, an then as she got aaat she said that she did awl ‘at and manaaged to guest blog on ovver people sites an awl.
Yeah. Zakly. Bollocks, innit. I tells you. Problem wiv the little laydies, right, is they fink they get ta do it awl.
She thought she had it awl, didn’t she? ‘usband, kid, ass, job, guest-posting on uvver peoples blogs, you know what appened as she got aaat the cab? So busy was she, talkin abaat er ability to guest post and live like a queen, she didn’t notice ‘er husband run off wiv her male secretary while ‘er son snorted coke off their garden wall and their flat exploded. Know why she didn’t notice? Got run over by a bus.
And THAT, my friend is why takin on guest postin is not good for you.
Gets you run over by buses.
So where might I find this eloquent gentleman taxi driver’s own blog?
I wish to converse with him at length.
Incidentally ad potentially not entirely tangentially, I sincerely hope that your own personal experiences have been omnibus free of late.