blissful astonishment

there are a few things, i noticed last week, which without fail are prefixed by 'the fucking'*.
'the fucking council tax bill.'
'turn off the radio...it's the fucking black eyed peas.'
''the fucking queue's massive.'
can't unfortunately do it with bono, doesn't work. you can however, do it with the fucking edge. who prefixes their name with a 'the' anyway ? idiot.
and so it occurred to me, on thursday at approximately half past four, when a face poked itself around the door of my office and said;
"coming to the pub ?"
"now ?"
"daisy. it's the easter weekend. week's over till tuesday"
the fucking bank holiday. i practically cartwheeled out of the office and into the pub, arriving at the bar with a terrifying vaudeville routine, a somersault and a 'taaaa-dah!!!'
look at the blissful astonishment on my face, lying in my garden. you can't see it, but just out of shot is a punnet of strawberries. there's practically a halo of joy over my head. ahhhhhhh.

*'the feckin' if you're lenny or teena, the irish types.