I tell you, the cheek of some people! I was down the gym and I had worked out, had a sauna and thought I would just knock one out before hitting the showers, so I nipped into the masturbation room.
As wankrooms go my gym has a pretty good one; low key lighting, fairly unobnoxious mood music, some erotic art on the walls, wipe clean padded benches, good ambient temperature, in all a nice place. Not like some gyms where the masturbation room is all lino floors, strip lighting and plastic beach recliners. Anyway, I go in, drop my trunks and start thinking of whatever when I find myself being distracted by this bloke over by the windows.
There were half a dozen people in there, not too bad for a Saturday when it can be hard to find a seat at peak times. Over against the far wall, spread wide, were a couple of girls from the aqua aerobics class rubbing away with gusto. The benches to the right were taken up by the usual collection of bodybuilders pumping away, some of those guys are so huge their equipment looks tiny, but they get on with the business and never bother anyone. But over by the window, which looks through to the pool area, was this man in his early forties reading the paper! He was dressed in a pair of speedos that made it obvious that he didn't even have a semi, and was reading the FT, bold as brass.
Well I couldn't concentrate then, I tried looking over at the girls, who were now using some of the larger pieces of equipment the gym provides, and normally that would be enough to keep my attention, but this guy and his Financial Times kept snagging me back every time I got a good pace going. Eventually I gave up, pulled my trunks up and left, which was kinda embarrassing, I got some funny looks I can tell you.
On the way out I complained at reception, I mean really, non wankers have plenty of places to do their thing, I am sure there is a rule somewhere about using the gym facilities appropriately.
Anyway, it ruined my morning.

I am exhausted - I have spent the whole of the last week working in pissbottle distribution. A lot of people do not realise that those cola bottles full of urine you see by every road and railway in the country have to be painstakingly filled and distributed on a regular basis. Imagine waht would happen if me and my colleagues neglected our duties - what would you find to stare at when waiting for the delayed 7.03 to London Bridge? It isn't so easy either - oh no, you can't just drink 10 pints and wait, bottle in hand, for the results. It's the colour you see, if you are over hydrated you will not be able to get the lurid yellow that screams "Yes, I am a bottle of piss!". Some cowboys might fill their cola bottles with apple juice, flat lager and the like but for me if it isn't the real thing it isn't worth doing. Then there's the cost of buying all that cola, and the logistics of getting the piss into the bottle, and then the distribution itself - a holdall full of piss bottles weighs about 35 kilos, and these days carrying a sloshy bag that heavy can get you shot! I tell you we are the unsung heroes of niche litter distribution.

There I was, walking to the shop to get a paper, when who should I meet but me, aged 18. I have no idea how THAT happened - I mean, we both live in the same town now, but he is living here 20 years ago and I am living here now. Must have been one of those glowing swirly space-time disturbances they keep on encountering in star trek. Anyway, suffice to say now-Me met then-Me.

At first I didn't really know where to look because he is SUCH a twat, with all the black clothes and big hair and jewellery and those bloody earrings, but I let it slide, after all, we were all young once.

We chatted for a while, then he asked me what I am doing these days. Well I had to tell him about how I wasn't a rock icon, or a famous cartoonist, or a respected but controversial zeitgeist pundit.

Then I told him about work and my job and my wife and my kids and how I spend my days. He became rather abusive at about that point and we ended up having a standup row outside the paper shop, I think he would have hit me but I am twice his size (scrawny git) and he never had any guts.

Anyway we calmed down after a bit, he said he was going back to 1987 and intended to do a much better job than I have of living my life, I wished him luck, and told him I hoped he did a better job than I have.

Then I warned him not to get hooked up with any purple haired women at university, not to buy a house in an asbestos contaminated area even if it was really cheap, and not to go to university until he knew what he wanted to do with life. I guess he ignored me though because everything seems to be the same today.

And it came to pass that the Lord took the lovely Choccy Eggie from it's bright packaging, and peeled off the golden covering, and he broke it, and handed the section thereof to those gathered there, and he spake saying "Take, eat, in remembrance of me”. And lo, they ate of the chocolate saying “we thank you Lord for this gift”. But one amongst them was sorely troubled, for his piece was smaller than an olive leaf and the others had larger pieces, and he felt an enmity against the Lord, and promised vengeance in his heart.

From the book of Thorntons, Ch2 V11