Is this how it ends?

Puberty is a hard time for anyone, that change over from being a child to becoming an adult. It's a major upheaval, not only physically but also mentally. It explains why teenagers are such whiny little cunts. But not many people know there is another similar change that happens as one grows older. It is less well known as a lot of people drift into it without thinking, but if like me you've been putting it off for as long as possible the implications are magnified beyond all reason. It involves furniture.

The horror, the horror...

I recently moved into an unfurnished flat, I think this is the first time this has ever happened in my life. Even though I've pretty much lived on the road and probably lived in more houses than are in the average village, I have never had to buy furniture as the places I have lived were usually stocked up on seating implements and such. The first two days in my new place I spent sitting and eating my dinner off the floor. It felt like being in a refugee camp, I was expecting soldiers to come in at anytime to move me along with news of the enemy army following hard on their heels. This problem was quickly overcome by the purchase of a couple of sofas and a small table. Along with this I bought some other bits and pieces. The flat began to look like a real home. But, there were still things missing. Number one was a bed. I have a bed, don't worry I don't sleep on a piss stained mattress in the corner of a filthy room. No, I have a bed, which on loan at the moment, but I needed a more permanent sleep facility. I went online at IKEA and bought one along with some more things for the house. This is when I started to realise the change.

The begining of the end...

It was a Saturday afternoon. I'd popped into town to pick up a few sundries, you know, a spot of lunch, some Glen Cambell records, some books on Nazi uniforms. The usual stuff. Everything was going according to plan, but suddenly I stopped in my tracks! It was though a veil had been lifted from my eyes, I had, as alcoholics are want to name it, a moment of clarity. I was standing in the fucking furniture department of Barnitt's store. Until that moment, I didn't even know Barnitt's HAD a furniture department. My guard must have been down and I'd wandered unconsciously into the store and found my way to where the beds, tables and settees were located. I hadn't meant to go there. Furniture was the last thing on my mind, I mean how the fuck would I be able to carry a double bed back to the house with only one pair of hands? How did this happen? I'd caught myself musing idly about how nice a magazine rack looked and how it would compliment the other items of furniture I already owned. The price was right as well. I MEAN, COME ON!! A FUCKING MAGAZINE RACK?? I'd just literally cast a glance over some wooden door stoppers. What was I thinking? Who makes these things? What fresh Hell was this? The moment I came to my senses, I made for the exit as quickly as I could, sweat pouring off me from fear. I flew out of that place like a demon and nearly collapsed in the street gasping for air. Something has changed in me. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it. I have never given furniture a second thought before. I am becoming an adult?

Noooooooooooooooooo!

Speaking of useless furniture items, I went back to the Ape pen last night, Cath had invited me over for a  Sunday roast, Tim was against the idea, but the matriarch's will is stronger. The dinner was passable. I had to sink my own body weight in booze before I could stomach any of it, but during said dinner, an object was produced that made me baulk and wish I'd never been born. It was the French equivalent of the wooden door stopper; a cocktail stick holder made in the shape of an owl. Yes, really. I will allow you to ruminate upon that piece of information: A COCKTAIL STICK HOLDER MADE IN THE SHAPE OF AN OWL. How happy I will be when the balloon finally goes up and humanity is reduced to fighting over coloured pebbles and clean water.