I washed my car, And my sleeves, Shoes, Socks, Jeans .....

Time for my second update of my semi regular life blog. (It say's alot about a person when the most interesting thing that happens to them is meeting a Jehova's person and washing my car).
It's been a relativley mildly interesting weekend really, I went past the cemetary, I picked out a lovely little plot for myself, Right in the far corner, Meaning vandals and yobs won't be arsed to scrawl graffitti all over my little obelisk, and also that anyone that can be bothered to visit me have to walk a bloody long way to do so. I might take my spade down there tommorow and make a start, Just in case.
Anyway after my little visit to the cemetary I went to pick my car up from outside the pub. I was half expecting it to have been broken into and vandalised to within an inch of it's life, Bloody sods. But much to my amazement it was just as I left it. Well exept for the dirty great Pigeon poo slap bang in the middle of my windscreen.
Now I'm not a Bill Oddieist but Whatever the good people of Bridlington are feeding the local birdlife it must be good stuff, After five minutes of screen wash and frantic wiper action the excrement still remained, Solid, staring triumphantly at me. So i had to give in, I elected to wash my car.
Now instead of paying several pounds to use the petrol station car wash, Or several more pounds to have immigrants wash it for me I decided to do it myself, By hand, And use several hundered pounds worth of water and polish.
Washing ones car comes with the usual hazards, Soaking wet feet, sleeves and body in general. Then the usual moron who walks past and cheerfully declares 'Ooooh You can do mine for me while you're at it, Hahahaaa'
In that situation it's very hard to act pleasant and not fly into a rant about the individual being a complete and utter idiot, In what other walk of life is such a comment the norm, If I'm eating in a resteraunt people don't walk by and say 'Ooohh You can eat my steak for me while your at it'
Anyway to cut a long story short, I'm wet and cold, but my car's clean ish, My graves picked out, And I'm still not a jehova then again Arguing with a religious person is like playing chess with a pigeon. You could be the greatest player in the world, but the pigeon will still knock over all the pieces, shit on the board and strut around triumphantly.
I really don't know how I keep up my Rock N roll lifestyle