When the televisual quotient safely ensconced on my hard drive begins to dawdle, I have no other option than to visit an internet cafe in order to, and I quote myself here, 'download my fucking arse off'.
I have, of course, tried doing this at home, but my working class, third world, developing country internet server makes a slug on the outside of 5 milligrams of Xanax look like Grease fucking Lightning. I'm still waiting for a song I optimistically clicked on somewhere around 2006 to enter the realms of 'My Music'. Hostile little fucker.
But just recently I have actually began to enjoy my sorties out of the village and into the relative sophistication of the nearest town, and this is solely due to the fact that I have stumbled upon possibly the best internet shop in the history of internet shops, or cafes as some people like to say.
'Does it sell coffee? Wholemeal snack treats? A selection of open flans?
'No'.
'WELL IT ISN'T A CAFE, THEN, YOU BOORISH FUCKING THUG!'
What initially attracted me to this particular establishment was the lack of other people in it, most notably the irritating little recalcitrant youths who scream like their bollocks are on fire every time they score a head-shot. And since this venue was home to only five computers, only four of which that work, I reasoned that the barbaric parties of teenagers roaming the streets intent on finding a shop with enough hardware to accommodate all of their shrieks, would not be disturbing me anytime soon.
Secondly, I was delighted to find that when I was eventually joined by a second party that he (a chap of some 25 years) asked me if I minded him smoking and would I like a glass of beer.
"No and Yes respectively" I said brimming with adoration for my new acquaintance.
Next, I noted that the 6Gb's of television that I was currently downloading was close to completion only a couple of hours after I had started the torrent.
This place is fucking fantastic.
You can drink, smoke and 'download your fucking arse off' all in blissful silence, bar the occasional cough and splutter from my new mate who, incidentally, drinks all day everyday and seldom leaves the shop, which has led me to conclude that he's a drug dealer who murders people for a living.