Imperial Tobacco bought Rizla some years ago. Hence the tie-in. And hence the fact that other papers tend to be crowded out of the convenience store market these days. Sinister, I tell thee. Or maybe not.
I drank coffee just now. Not even real coffee, one of those bottled Starbuck's mocha things wot ponces drink. It was nice, but I run the risk of triggering a hypomanic episode if I drink more. I've already had two wanks this morning, so it's on the cards, like.
Speaking of masturbation, Hot Ginger Bus Stop Chick was around this morning after days of absence (or me actually being on time to work). She was dressed pretty
rawk today, all black, leather jacket and all. We kinda matched. She usually looks like a prim indie girl, or she's fresh from the gym and suitably attired. She smokes though, which adds to the appeal, gives us one thing in common and is pretty rare these days in women under 35 compared to when I were a youngster. How tragic.
I'd like to think it's my corrupting influence that's caused this shift in her manner of dress - that I've somehow beamed an ersatz 'bad girl' vibe at her by projecting my clammy-fisted fantasies through the damp Withington morning air. Like a slightly pathetic, shoestring budget, crazy-person-on-public-transport version of the number Travolta did on Newton-John in
Grease.
I'm fully aware that this hopeless whimsy is all truly shameful, but it beats thinking of what I'm going to have for lunch. So fuck it. They can't arrest you for being crazy on the quiet. Yet.
