A slow week

So i've spent my second weekend in a row painting. Kitchen last week and Bathroom this. It is usually at some point at the weekend that I will post something stupid about me, some little fuck up i've made, presented to you lot in a humorous manner. I am afraid that this week has been a little too normal and this is why I shall be sharing a story I heard over the phone from my friend. He won't thank me for sharing this but he doesn't know about this page so what the fuck. Thursday morning 7:45am finds me on a packed and uncomfortable commuter train into London proper. Standing room only and very little room to move about. We're packed in. My phone vibrates in my pocket and in this situation I would usually leave it but I'm pretty sure i know who it is on the other end and so I shift my arm slightly, bumping 3 people in the process *disgusted glances given and muttering ensues*. About 6 months ago my best friend in the whole world decided to drop everything and go live in Australia. What with the time difference between the UK and Australia, if I get a call around this time in the morning I know who it is. And he's usually drunk so it's fun. After the usual pleasantries were swapped he launched into a monologue of his evening. He was half cut after a serious after work drinking session and decided to pop into the local strip club. After an hour or two there winding himself up with the "look but don't touch" policy, he decides to grab a copy of the local paper from the store and jumps in a cab. Straight to the classified pages, hunting for the number for a whorehouse. Now, he is a funny guy and by this time I am chuckling along with him *more dark glances and an increased mutter level is achieved*. Out he pops $25 later into an industrial estate with a sparkly signed whorehouse in front. He walks in to find he is the only customer there and so the lady at the counter with a cigarette dangling from her mouth sits him down and brings 4 girls out for him to choose from. He gets up, goes with his chosen girl and she tells him to strip. She then insists he places his cock under a lamp to check for any nasties. Now, as I've said, he is a funny guy and he knows I am in a packed train so delights in making the story as funny as possible because he knows i'm laughing out loud, and no one else is finding it at all funny. It was at this point I received the dirtiest look from a middle aged woman directly in front and below me (i'm about a foot taller then her and laughing hard into her heavily product laden hair). Half the cabin was now considering me a nuisance so I did the first thing that sprang to mind and turned the phone to speaker just as my friend went into glorious technicoloured detail about his hired friend slapping on some cream to her hand and starting to wank him off. He was so drunk and horny that he came in under a minute, pulled his trousers back on, handed over $130 he had agreed to pay for the full monty and went straight back to the foyer to find the bored receptionist still smoking the same cigarette. Insult to injury made him sit there and wait for 45 minutes for a cab home. At this point I have streams of tears running down my face, not sure what is funnier, the story or the looks of abject horror on my fellow passengers faces. The same passengers I see every morning on the same train to work. The uppity middle aged trout in front of me was in her final death throes or so it would seem she was so red and outraged, spluttering in an apoplexical fashion. It was when he finished the conversation with the words "I'm easier than a one colour Rubix Cube" that the carriage added another laugh to my already silent laughter. You know when you laugh so hard that nothing comes out, that was me. Unfortunately the only other person to laugh was a 14 year old schoolboy who was quickly silenced by his outraged mother. Ah, Mondays journey to work shall be interesting.