Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Not fun, and not fair

So, I tried to make it two in a row. I really did. At lunchtime today, I ambled over to my new friend: the idyllic, unsullied, unoccupied, isolated grass verge. It was another fine day, and I was prepared, with a can of Dr. Pepper and my book, in an attempt to replicate the gentle relaxation of the previous day.

Over night, a bunch of pikey fuck-knuckles had erected a "fun" fair. You really had to squint to see the green hidden amongst the noisy, greasy, ugly metal death machines. I hate fun fairs. You can hear every screech and whine of the rides with each tiny whirl, twist and shimmy, just calling out to the local tards as if to say, "Forget about becoming a concert pianist, kid, for tonight I will crumple your delicate fingers in my rusty joints."

"Roll up, roll up, poison your guts with luminous sugary snacks that have been in a warehouse since the days when Frank Bough still had a career!"

"Waste your hard-earned pocket money trying to win a stuffed monkey that only cost us 50p at a car boot sale! Marvel as the stuffing squeezes out of the toy's eye sockets the minute your little brother gets his hands on it! Gasp as his skin breaks out in a rash from the cheap material it was cobbled together with!"

I really, really hate fun fairs.

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