Tuesday Night.

Everyone's in a shouty mood, everyone's appending '-dawg' to each others' names. Debs and I are watching Girl, Interrupted, which reminded me of a timeless classic joke that Allard once made. I won't go into detail but it involved stopping in the middle of a sentence, to much hilarity/incomprehension.

I haven't been writing much recently. Why is this? I have been busy, but not too busy to fit in sleeping and half-hours spent looking out the window. Work hasn't become a chore yet but is running me ragged. I need to remember why I started this blog.

I started this blog because when I am a grown-up I want to write books, grown-up books, like the ones by Dan Brown or Maeve Binchy (who is Ror-dawg's auntie, HOLLA!). I needed some way to keep in practice. If I am going to write a blockbuster novel, with a gripping plot and perhap even a hero who posesses "sharp green eyes and a wit to match" (actual quote, Dan Brown) then I need not to forget how to write.

Things I have forgotten:

1. How to write.
2. Who Christian Slater is.
3. How to cash a till/count a float.
4. How to play the guitar/bass.

Pav and Grace just came home from Native (a club). Grace rubbed her face on my laptop and then on my face. Pav is singing 'don't be fooled by the rocks that I've got, she's still she's still Jenny from the block' to us. I have a feeling someone has been powdering their noses a little much.

I'm having a Hallowe'en dilemma:

Blood?


Cos we all know that I am a gang banger. Thus:


I'll let you know how that pans out.

Wednesday Afternoon.

Pav and I watched this live on Pip & Fern this morning:



That's why we don't do crack.

(I have mentioned before that the lovely Joe, my housemate, is hard to understand. If you were ever curious about his voice, knock that down two octaves, and imagine she's Bristolian instead of Northern.)

Sunday Afternoon.

Recession anticipation! Are you ready? I'm just hankering for a three-day week, reading the Morning Star by candlelight, fingerless gloves and some good strikes. Hooray! It's the 1970s!


No, seriously thouugh, the amount of debt we'll all in by the end of our courses, is it not just a little worrying? No? Just me then. It's Christmas soon, I'm not looking forward to that. I think we should get a Secret Santa thang going here.

Aside from all that, in our Clifton Crack Den everything is fine. If 'fine' means like seriously injured siblings and near evasion of rape, waking up with 'FAG' written on your head, having no money, and other things. That's not just me, it's some other people too. It's tough times, we're having a lot of feelings.

"She's so pretty, it's making me ill." - Pav, thirty seconds ago. RE: Some bint on The X Factor.

What is happening with the watershed these days? Does it even exist anymore? Simon Cowell fully just said 'bloody' on ITV-of-all-fucking-channels at 17:27 on a Sunday evening! John-Paul said 'bitch' and Niall said 'whore' on this week's Hollyoaks. We have a lot of feelings about Hollyoaks too.


More soon. I need to find some motivation.

Thursday

Another term finds me irresolute and procrastinating. I am still alive, for those of who who've very sweetly expressed concern. I've just been mega busy a.k.a. cycling/sleeping/discovering 'The Melbow Rooms' still do toffee-apple flavoured Brothers/wearing dork glasses, being a hipster/reading well but being too chicken to make incisive comments in seminar.

Found out Carson McCullers was a chick. Then found out Cass McCombs (right) is playing Thekla. My ever-present sidekick/valet/comic foil Darren and I are going. 16th November. Wanna come too? Yeah you do!

(Big Jeff is obv. going to be there.)

Speaking of finding things, you know FOUND Magazine? (Nice segue, well done) They're doing a talk/show at the Arnolfini tonight and, as ever, Darren and I will be there.

He: Hello?
Me: Hey, it's me.
He: Hey, how're you doing?
Me: HOLY RUSTED METAL BATMAN! NO TIME FOR CHIT CHAT! THE HIPSTER SIGNAL IS SHINING OVER GOTHAM'S SKIES!

da na na na na na na na, da na na na na na &c.

(The above exchange, in case you couldn't guess, was an absolute fabrication, and one of a diseased and mouldy mind at that. My Batmobile has five gears. And is a bicycle.)

"Cult magazine FOUND brings its rowdy roadshow to Arnolfini for an evening of voyeuristic fun. Expect tongue-in-cheek readings from the magazine and songs based on found notes, pictures and objects, &c."

£3 for students, rock and roll.

I have many, many more stories to tell and pictures to share, Sarah Haskins videos to links to, and an election across the pond which is fairly exciting to think about, but right now I have to go to the launderette and then to work. Is it my day off? Yeah, I think so. Is it fuck as like.

Quick round-up of Things To Come:

Play: Real-Life Exchange Between Clueless Toff And Humble Narrator (dramatised in the fashion of Samuel Beckett's frustrating comic masterpiece Waiting For Godot).
Photographs: ladyboys, me in maroon, Darren also in maroon (he's feeling maroon as much as I am right now, and as much as Kate did about a year ago), Norwich, Bristol, life.
Work: My New Old Job. Tom Now Has My Old Old Job. Why Exactly That Job Was So Gay. What Happened The Time I Got Cheered In A Bar For Being The 'Legend' Who Got Fired From That Job.
Music, books, fashion. Sex? Shoplifting. Getting hit on quite a bit. Facebook! Our flat, and the bad things that've happened there. Updates. Gossip. Shoes. Come back soon! It's going to be a par-tay.

Oh yeah! And if you see a toff, especially a toff in a BMW, punch him in his shit for me. I've had it up to here with toffs. More on that later.