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Monday, September 04, 2006
8:04 PM Don't Mug Yourself I'm at the ripe old age of 25 now, but strangely I've never known anyone to die. Most people I know have lost relatives and friends, yet the only person I've even known to snuff it was a guy on my course in uni who I knew little and liked less. Grandad #1 died before I was born, and grandparents 2 3 and 4 are alive and kicking. In fact, I don't think I've even ever seen a dead body, which can't be good; you should see it when you're young and get it out of the way like chicken pox (which I've also not had). It's entirely possible that I'll get adult chicken pox, and the only person I'll ever know to die will, ironically, be me. Instead of losing people, my life has been struck by a series of comparatively smaller losses: Mugs. I like my own mugs, and am not the biggest fan of drinking from the 'communal' variety in office kitchens. I don't have OCD or anything (well, not about this) but it's just a strong preference. Back in 1999 my wicked-bad X-Files mug was kidnapped and held to ransom for a 4-pack of Kronenberg. Said mug was eventually recovered after a traumatic couple of days, but it was never the same. Just when I got back to loving it again, it was dropped in the sink in an act of malice (not on my part), and chipped on the drinking side. Into the bin it went. It's replacement, the Liverpool mug, was a thing of beauty. It could hold just the right amount of coffee required to keep me awake throughout lectures. Glasses? Pah, all the drinks went into the mug. And what happens the day before it's set to be safely transported home? It got killed, just like Private Santiago in A Few Good Men. Well, not exactly like that, it wasn't found strangled with a rag in it's throat; the 'Code Red' was carried out by one of the cleaners. The British Airways mug I had at Alphameric served me better than a Wookiee with a life-debt, but I forgot to take it with me when I left the job. How could I have been so callous? After that it was the turn of the The Times mug that Midge from uni got free at some careers fair. Jet black exterior, good handling, the perfect office mug. A black pearl amongst the sea of The Great Unwashed in the cupboard. Unfortunately, Timey went missing the other day and I was left mugless. I don't know what happened to it. Maybe it left me. Maybe it was kidknapped. Maybe it was smashed and disposed of. Would I prefer it was safe and happy somewhere, without knowing what happened? Or would I prefer it was smashed, at least able to get closure and move on? I decided the second. So off I went, walking down the Strand to find a new mug. Sealey suggested I buy one from Starbucks, and the idea seemed a good one. Those ones aren't bad, good size, but the price? Six quid. SIX QUID?! I've got to pay that much and they get the benefit of free advertising from the logo on the side? That dog won't hunt, Monsignor. What to do? The mugs at Morrisons were all too girly. I now need a mug that says "Back off, I'm not getting smashed today! You drink from me without permission and you is going down". I need one that says "Bad muthafu**a". Maybe literally. Leave a comment ::
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I've got a regulation Starbucks mug, grande size.
I must agree with timothy's splendid idea. steal it!
Yeah, RIP Steve, see post above.
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