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[09 May 2008|05:43pm] AOL's Dating Guide has the feel of a hunting guide about it. Disgusting, obnoxious seven steps to a woman's hole for dickheads. Utter, utter dickheads. If that's what it takes I think i'd prefer to be single. Here's my take on it. So, without further ADO, here's the Dating Guide from Arsehole On Line, with what i'd do written underneath AOL's step. 1. Shit AOL Step 1: 1. Spot your prey You've homed in on a gorgeous girl at the bar. You want to get close but she's surrounded by a group of mates, so how can you tell if she's single? Use the time waiting at the bar to chat to the guys in her group. Start a conversation, make them laugh. Your aim at this stage is to be open and friendly and get the men of the group on side. If she's out with an all-female group, you need to change tactic. This is where a mate can help. While you have isolated your prey he can distract her friends to give you more time with your quarry. While you are flirting, he can be finding out more about your girl from her friends and can talk you up. What i'd do: Right you've seen a girl you like. Look terrified, and search for an easy way out. If no way out is present, drop to the floor and crawl along it until you bump into people's feet, at which point they start kicking you. Get up and sit at the bar, clutching your head in terror, turning around to throw glances at her, during which you open your mouth like in that old painting, in a transfixed, silent, anguished scream. Headbutt the bar. After banging your head five times, rest your head and roll it from side to side, shouting "NO! NO! NO!". AOL Stupid Fucking Step 2: 2. Me, interested in you? Very attractive women get guys coming on to them all night. Frankly, it's boring for them. It sounds strange but the way to get a good-looking girl's attention is to ignore her - blatantly. When you next pass the group, stop and chat to the guys with her. (If she's with a group of girls, this is where your mate starts a conversation with one of the girls). Whether she's with a mixed group or all girls, you must NOT look her way. In fact, deliberately turn your back or partially block her while you chat to the group instead. If she likes the look of you, she'll be intrigued to know what you and her mates are laughing about - and even more intrigued why you haven't gone up to her - after all, she is the prettiest girl in the room What i'd do: Shit in a hand, and offer it to her mates. Be sick in a fag box, and sit on it. Paint a pitcture of a cow's cunt on your forehead, and dance around her group, kicking your legs out and swinging arms dangerously in all directions. Turn your back on her, bare your arse to her, and shit on the floor. Fall over, in your own excrement, and cry loudly. Lick the floor. Repeat. AOL SHIT FUCKING STEP THREE: 3. Let her do the running Wait for her to physically move into the group or until she joins the conversation to give her any attention. Once she does, this is the time to use eye contact to full effect. Look directly into her eyes and hold the contact for a few seconds too long. Smile as you do so with your mouth closed. A smiling, closed mouth is more mysterious than a wide, toothy grin. Save this for when you wake up next to her in the morning. What i'd do: Tie a dead mouse to your fists, and punch yourself repeatedly, in her presence. Hurl salt into your eyes, and howl like a dying child in her direction, forcing your fist into a pint glass and knocking it about. Undo your flies, and ram a fist into your groin. AOL Step 4: 4. Moving in Clubs and noisy bars make great flirting territory - you have to get close to hear her. Use this to your advantage to help isolate her from the group. Make conversation and feel free to give her a compliment - but not on the way she looks. Instead tell her how funny she is, or how you admire some aspect of her character. And no more than one compliment. The aim is to keep her guessing as to whether you fancy her or not. What i'd do: Let off a fire alarm, so that everyone runs out screaming. Find her in the car park, and offer her a soiled hankerchief with your face and hers drawn on it. Make the faces "Kiss" by scruching up the hankerchief. Look at her for a full ten minutes, without blinking. Drop to the floor and grab her leg, shouting and screaming as she pulls you along the floor. Dress in a nappy and sit in a skip, bellowing AOL Step 5. 5. Check her signals Watch to see if she touches herself while talking to you (eg stroking her neck, playing with her hair or earrings). She doesn't have to be talking with you to make her intention known. If she's touching things while talking to someone else but looking at you, you know you're halfway to bed. What i'd do: If she's let you get this far, she's clearly not all that bright. If she looks well scared, well done! If she's calling the police, it means you've got her attention. If it takes more than six cops to restrain you, it will impress her. Shout at her as you're led away "I'll BE BACK FOR YOU, YA SEXY SHITTER!" AOL Step 6: 6. Lull her into a sense of security Now's the time to move away from the bar and find a quieter spot to talk - a comfy sofa if you're lucky. Place a hand gently on her mid back (not too low or you'll appear sleazy). Guide her to where you want to go. If she's not happy, she'll quickly move away from your hand. If this happens, back off from physical contact and resume chatting. If she lets it stay there, you can move on to the next stage. What i'd do. Don't touch her, women are terrifying. They might want you to touch their naughty hole or their fun bumps. Just sit in the chair, back straight, face forward, lunging at her with a stick if she tries anything. AOL Step 7: 7. In for the kill Now's the time to get closer. Touch her lightly on the arm or knee as you talk to emphasise your point or whenever she laughs. Fix her with that sexy melting look you do so well and if all is well lean in for the kiss. Go soft and slow - but show her enough passion to say you mean business. Always let the lady decide when it's time to go home. When it is, play the gentleman and offer to see her back safely. Take it easy and don't put too much pressure on her to get invited inside. With any luck you'll be enjoying a 'cup of coffee' and stroking the cat in no time. What i'd do: Follow her home on all fours like a dog. Shit on her lawn, knock one out on her carpet. If she tries to get you into bed, Spin around the bedroom, crashing into all her things, and leap through the window. Roll down the street. Go home, and never, ever go back Don't worry, I don't actually think of women like this. I am a robot, and so I regard both genders with equal contempt. Now FUCK OFF. Ha ha. See you later, then. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[09 May 2008|12:37am] I've been writing a lot of things like this. I like romantic vicarious poems, imagining that i'm a seething passion in the eyes of another. A casanova, you might say. I'm not, of course. I just like to tap into the heat within us all. This became a poem. In this heated dark, I thump against the inside of your belly, I am flame licking at your skin, melting you from within. In creeping humidity I am the cool glint of ice against your spine.. the hurried glances towards the clock, the fevered wilt of dying flowers in your eyes. It is very warm tonight. I don't like warm nights. Unless I have someone warm. And I don't. So it sucks. Anyway, night, you eggs. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[09 May 2008|12:12am] There is an event to take place soon which is something that hasn't taken place in a while, at least i've not been involved. It is an event, that I first attended five years ago, when I was a different character entirely. And quite honestly, it sickens me to remember how I was. It makes me want to punch myself in the fucking face back then, grab me, tell me to grow up, because i'm frustrated that it took me that long to hold my head up and be counted. The difference is now that although my romantic life is not in context any better off than then, I have grown up mentally, confidentally, and socially, and I let my character flourish. My only real problem is, that I don't feel attracted to anyone enough to make me feel the way I thought I did then, if you see what I mean. That is my problem. When i'm in the company of women, I am no longer trying to appeal to any of them. Of course, i'll act like a prat around Rebecca, because I quite like her. But I don't think I like her enough. I quite like the thought of battering her pink balloon, but that's about it. It's sex. That's all I can think of that draws me towards her at this point. My male precepts. And i'm well aware that as a man I am controlled by my penis to an extent. However, I don't feel compelled by sex. I like it, sure, but when i'm attracted to someone, it isn't good enough to just feel that twinge. It used to be, but luckily I wasn't confident enough to exploit it, and i'm glad about that, because I wouldn't have this attitude I have now. It is a good attitude. I'm very, very careful with myself, because I want a woman and not a fuck. It's not as if my newfound confidence has given me any real luck with women, but if we're being honest, I haven't asked anyone out in three years. I just have not wanted to. I'm sure i'll one day think, yes, it's time. Time to risk rejection, but i'd rather just be natural and me for the moment. Besides, the best thing about confidence is, i'm much, much more fun around women than I used to be. Because i'm not infactuated so easily anymore. I'm just me. So fuck it, right? Yeah. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[08 May 2008|07:13pm] In today's edition of our look back at five years of this fucking diary, here's the phenomenon known as "Shut 9", the most ridiculous in-joke in history. http://zoomeister.livejournal.com/1162369.html Stylish! Bye! Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[08 May 2008|07:03pm] Good to see that i've got no hangups about writing anymore. Late at night is the best time, because i'm feeling that midnight buzz. In the day I rarely feel like writing; the long slow pace and dull trod of day are nothing compared to the sleek grace of night. And it doesn't appear to matter that i'm single, I know how to write about love, and like last night...sex, without having any of either! Awesome. It's nice to know I still get horny. Fuckin' righteous. Today has been bad in two ways, it's been too warm, and it's been OAP Thursday, the worst day of the week. However, this is the last one i'll have to do for two weeks. More, in fact. Three weeks, as I go back on a Friday, and not a Thursday. So, there's something to be happy about. I have eight days off. Nine if you count the Tuesday. Ten if you count the second Tuesday. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. I cannot quite drive home with the force I wish to how nice it will feel to be away from plates, cutlery, noise, heat and fucking irritating work for a week. My one flaw you see, is my frustration, and my temper, and both are affected by work. Every single day. I just have to struggle through the weekend, and i'm nearly there. Once again, they're not letting me go without a fight, because thirty hockey players are coming from the hotel on Saturday night. If they're female hockey players, it might be interesting. But I don't think they will be. No alcohol tonight, i'm going home straight away unless that bloody Rebecca shows up. Not likely, really, though the humid weather might bring her out. Humid weather also makes me want to hammer a fucking pink puppet up her frigging cave. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[08 May 2008|01:11am] I tune the radio in, and I tune it out. I am comforted by crossed waves, and crossed swords, I like the way you tumble between the dial, the way you slip between the London static. I never want to find you, and yet I find myself searching for you within floor boards, like you were hidden deep in my apartment, under creaking nights, pitch black while i'm staggering through, naked and underlined, my fingers hitting walls and striking shadow. Sweat drips from me, i'm on my knees, drunk and curled up, like an ammonite, tumbled over like felled tree. My underbelly, exposed, my time is sharp splinters exposed on the mantlepiece, my soft skin bursts like pupae, and my heart buried in the garden. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[08 May 2008|12:53am] Gotta be careful with the drinking. I have things to save for, and occasions present themselves regularly. On Friday, I have a celebration to go to. I don't know if i'm going yet, i'm waiting to know who else is. But I want to. I want to get dressed up, let my hair down, wear black, feel good, kick out and get drunk. I'm sick of feeling like the odd one out, as I often do. I am actually pretty fucking awesome, and it's time I realised it. So I don't know if i'll be out this Friday, because I don't know who else is going at all. If nobody I know is, I won't go. I was going to say something here, but I don't think it's the right thing, nor do I feel it is a healthy thing to admit. So I won't. Think of this as a space for something I would have written in the past, but i'm more mature now. Your kiss is like dew, when I wake up, I long for your face. You are like the rising sun. You are like snowcaps, glistening on my peak. I love writing these thigns about you, because I don't need to, and it doesn't matter to me, if I do, or do not. You ain't going to be my lover, for one reason or another. And it ain't important. But you are my muse. I like watching you gasping for breath when you sink onto me, I like watching your eyes glaze over, I like it when you clutch at my shoulders, I like it when you dig in. I love it when your lips pass mine and you burst words into my cheek, the wet delights, the way you tightly seize my body during the heavenly grip. And that is me. Vicarious, yet not. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[08 May 2008|12:42am] I've never been more in love with cats. I love cats. I watched a cat video tonight posted by a friend, and it was so cute that I nearly cried. CATS! My dear old Des, how I miss him so. Any fucking way. Today was bingo day. Or, if you will, BINGO day. Bingo is often seen as the preserve of old ladies, but you find a whole host of people playing it. Old people, young people, even me. My first time in fact. What's curious about bingo is, for one thing, it's a huge room. It looks like an airport waiting lounge. There are umpteemth consoles, and each one is a cash machine. Between actual Bingo games, is a game you can play when NOT playing Bingo. And that game is designed to suck up small change. Lucy, T'Becks and I were there this evening. We managed to win quite well, but not on the actual Bingo. It being my first time, I felt quite virginial, unable to deal with the rampant stream of numbers, continuous, numbers that denote that we have won fuck all. So often, they scattered across the vision and meant nothing, and yet, we won some money. This crazy, brightly lit nonsensical hall full of faces old and young, desperately trying to win. To win something, anything. We went out into the smoking quadrangle. There were more consoles to play even out there. I know how they make their money. It was like a feeding trough. Machines everywhere. I was terrified. I drank to calm down. We had a laugh though. During the final games, Becks and Luce drew on my face, with their Bingo pens. It was really quite funny. Final winnings were pretty good. We ended up winning more than we spent, basically. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[07 May 2008|01:17am] Let me push back the hair from your neck, let me breath and elevate the goose pimples from your skin. Place your fingers between the space between my jeans, and my body. Rip them from me. Slide your fingers down the length of my leg. Drag nails across my chest, push me back, run your palms over my cheeks, exhale into my mouth. Sigh wishes of love, puncture my inhibition, rest upon my body as if it were the soil. Feel me rise and fall with you, my entirety, supporting you, reach into my soul. Make me sensitive to your touch, senses long dormant. My body is yours. I wilt to you, inhale me, redeem me. I am yours. Submitted, and relented. A leaning tree into your wind. Being single, you get horny. I like playing that border between seductive and explicit. Do you like it? I like it. My imagination cup runneth over, despite my loneliness. Read, you dirty things!. Hey, Here's a quiz I took in 1021, before the world was made. Although my answers are different, the result is the fucking same. Night then! Your Lucky Underwear Is Red You're confident and bold, and your lucky red underwear will only make you more sure of yourself. You have a great zest for life, and you tend to take on impossible goals - and succeed. When it comes to love, it's hard for you to take the time to open up. You're too busy conquering the world. So if you're looking for a little more romance, put on your red underpants. And see where their passion takes you! What Color Is Your Lucky Underwear? Such devilry! Muah. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[06 May 2008|07:49pm] Five years of the Zoomeister diaries, and let's face it, life stunk out loud for me in 2006. These days I feel like i'm smoking a cigar on a French veranda, in those days I felt like a tramp being sick outside Domino Pizza. So, things are much better. Here's a brilliant post I did though. This is from March of that year, I think. "Something of an interesting fact. Yesterday's viewing figures for the livejournal matched what has become the average Blurty figures. Hello, if you're reading. I'm a dirty pit slag. I throw filth at buses. I see your bumhole, and I raise you a lazy eye. I want to see one cat left after an apocalypse. Rest assured, it'll happen one day. Government war cabinets are plotting it now, pointing two fingers at Google Earth and making bang bang noises. They'll declare war on the earth, they'll wipe us all out, and all that's left will be a single domestic cat, sitting on a stool in the wasteland. I reckon it'll be George. And he won't move. His spores will be picked up by the wind and scattered the length of the country, evolving into new Georges. George never moves, he never breeds, he doesn't do a thing. His flock will be made from floating osmosis, and he'll rise up to make the new world special. That really is it. I tried thinking of new ways not to flirt, but they all end up involving self impalement, which i've done a million times before. Can't be bothered. Anyway, Valentine's day kind of is a joke in itself. Instead of buying your loved one flowers, buy them a bee. Bees are better than flowers, because they fly and collect honey. You could give it to them in a box. The bee could fly out and land on their face. They'd be happy, you'd be happy. You could both have sex with the bee. It could be a threesome. You could all go out hand in bee hand in hand. You and the bee. Alternatively, sit holding hands over a table you've dumped a pig's heart on. In between kissing and drifting off into romantic reverie, you could both take turns to blow into the heart like a fucking fleshy ocarina. Play the tune of love. One of you could smash the heart with a hammer, in representation of the peril of love. Remember, love is a crazy world, you may as well reflect it. Another popular couple's pursuit is having sex on a neighbour's porch and then throwing their bins through their window, followed by turds that you have both crapped out and mixed together. Make Valentine's special, please. You only have one muted celebration a year, to waste your money and render the best feeling in the world utterly blank and emotionless due to this Hallmark wank. Staple yourself to the bed, just to show your lover you're not going anywhere. Nail your cock to your thigh. Draw their face on your balls. Tatto a picture of a fizzing bomb to your loins, to show how explosive they're going to be when you knock boots with a loved one. Wank into a hand and give it to them, in a parcel wrapped in your own skin. Show your LOVE. Goodnight." This post actually makes me laugh out loud. Which is either tribute to it's greatness, or i'm just fucking arrogant. Hey, i'm feeling a little more cocky and confident these days. It's a beautiful change to the insecure dickhead I was, and I still have a weighty shit of modesty, I tell you. Here are some Dating Don'ts to keep you being sick all day, folks. 1. Call her Miss Bum-hole all through the date. Say you've been picturing her anus all day, and what it's like to put an endoscope up it. 2. Tell her you've always wanted to paint a black hole on your penis during sex. 3. Ask her if she's up for a trip to the dog's home, because you're horny as a beagle. 5. Revealing a funnel you're concealing, stand on your chair, and hold the funnel in your mouth, pointing upwards. Pour in a litre of hot curry paste (Liquidised so that it'll go through), and swallow the lot, choking and going red eyed with the hot, spicy overload. Lean at her face for a kiss, your eyes watering, and your hand clutching your bell end through your own trousers. 6. Give her a picture you drew of your mum being sick. 7. Tell her Frasier is god, and he wants her to fuck you. Write this on your own forehead and headbutt the table. 8. Astonish her by producing two small finger puppets you made of her parents, and make them have an argument at the table, pretending she is the root cause. 9. Tell her your foreskin is filthy, and you want her to shit all over it. 10. Hold a balloon in your mouth you've blown up, and are keeping there, all through the date. If she complains about it and the fact you can't and won't talk to her, punch the balllon and shake. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[06 May 2008|01:57am] I love that. I love when my heart is free, and i've got nothing to lose. Nothing. My diary has to be censured as such as I can't write a lot of feelings, but I can write how I feel emotionally, and I feel like that. It's fucking awesome. I love how I can love someone, without any bad feeling. It's easy. I love them. They'll never know it, but they'll know it. And it's awesome. And i've got nothing to lose. Nowt. I'm lovely, i'm sincere, and i'm Phylly. I don't have a damned thing to lose over this. I can write with impunity. Sigh. I had a fun night. Ben's birthday. Dan, Ben, Dale and I, had some chorltes of a booze related kind in the Royal. I haven't been there for ages. It's all been done up. It looks terrifying. Smaller. Yet bigger. And yet, smaller. We had some fun, drinking, and requesting songs from the dj. I was going to ask for Haddaway's "What is love". I didn't. But I wish I did. I got a mutual match on a dating site. I only do that for fun. But I got a match. Mutual, too. I suppose it's interesting. I think it is. Sort of. I am just too weary to notice at the moment. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[06 May 2008|01:53am] I love that. I love when my heart is free, and i've got nothing to lose. Nothing. My diary has to be censured as such as I can't write a lot of feelings, but I can write how I feel emotionally, and I feel like that. It's fucking awesome. I love how I can love someone, without any bad feeling. It's easy. I love them. They'll never know it, but they'll know it. And it's awesome. And i've got nothing to lose. Nowt. I'm lovely, i'm sincere, and i'm Phylly. I don't have a damned thing to lose over this. I can write with impunity. Sigh. I had a fun night. Ben's birthday. Dan, Ben, Dale and I, had some chorltes of a booze related kind in the Royal. I haven't been there for ages. It's all been done up. It looks terrifying. Smaller. Yet bigger. And yet, smaller. We had some fun, drinking, and requesting songs from the dj. I was going to ask for Haddaway's "What is love". I didn't. But I wish I did. I got a mutual match on a dating site. I only do that for fun. But I got a match. Mutual, too. I suppose it's interesting. I think it is. Sort of. I am just too weary to notice at the moment. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[06 May 2008|01:43am] In my heart, I want you to come and gather me up, to hold my face in your hands, to kiss the lights out at night. You, with your graceful strength, your'e holding the walls up to stop yourself collapsing. Sweet, beautiful lady. With one signal, I would be like a wreath, like a dog, sitting with my feet and my toes in submission. I already realise this post is divided into several points. Thanks. I love you. My silly quirks are yours. My laughs direct me passionately into your arms. I lose breath when I imagine myself underneath you, hair hitting me like rain, love on my belly, kiss on my tongue, your moist fingertips drive into me, I die for you, every day. I am drunk on you, you make me forget. I love you. I'll never stop hoping. The sad thing is, I know you're awesome, and you know, somewhere, that I am too. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[05 May 2008|07:16pm] "So, you haven't told me what you like doing in your spare time?" "Oh..haven't I?" "Heheh...no. How about I go fir..." "WELL. I'll tell you what I like. I like sitting on the floor of a round pit, manipulating myself while a circle of dogs stare down into the pit at me". "I'm leaving." "But we haven't had fucking coffee yet!" Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[05 May 2008|04:05pm] The Chair is broken. The slat at the back is coming out, meaning every time I lean back I put pressure on it. Only one of you knows why it is called the chair, and if that's you you'll likely have a swift chuckle. The Chair, at any rate, is dying. Pahahah. I'll have to get a new one. But i'll be keeping this one, for luck. Bank Holiday is over, finally. Meaning, work. At last! Hallejiuah! Thank Christ! And other such euphoric exclamations. Stuart (Bell Stuart, not Megaphonic) stag night next month. It's going to be the biggest night i've ever been on. As i'm the least geezerish of all the people I know, I shall be providing the poetic candour, I feel. Or I might encourage more drinking than is necessary, especially Stuart, who will be attached to something by the end of the night, be it a lampost or a bench. It is decreed. You know, seeing so many people pairing off while I stay on my Jack Jones has affected my mood recently. There is a tonic for that. Either I start going out to places outside Minster (Not currently viable while all my friends are saving up for weddings and so can't go with me, and I hate going on my own), or I forget about my miserable lack of a love life and plough myself into learning something new. They always say things happen when you least expect it, anyway. Back in September 2004, when I learned English, I swear my tutor wanted a piece of me. Of course, I didn't actually do it, because I had a spark happening online and that took precedence. Then, in December 2006, there was that nice Delphine who liked my hair, and cooed when I wrote things about Manga characters. Only difficulty was, she was seventeen, and was engaged. So no go there. But things do happen for me, even if I don't initially pick up on them. Later on, i'll be doing a video featuring a Gordon Ramsay impression. The greatest tv chef alive! Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[05 May 2008|10:59am] I fear that today's Bank Holiday Monday will be one shift too far. I'm already weary. The only thing that keeps me from stoving my skull in with a brick is the thought that next week i'm finally off for a week. It's been far fucking too long. This morning while procuring some toast I stood outside and watched a bird in the bird-bath outside. I like watching them, they're quite amusing. I did this, until a massive bee came looming into view, at which point I ran inside and closed the door. The bee only bloody came in the window, didn't it? Sod. Luckily, it flew straight under a plate and stayed there. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[05 May 2008|01:09am] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=toHoHh0Rx-4 Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[04 May 2008|04:30pm] Frasier Crane grimaced, as the shit foreced it's way through his arsehole like a small slug. It felt like giving birth. In the distance, a bell rang. It was time to let his dad out of the cess pit. I've been thinking about attraction, and how rare it is for me. Turns out that, despite being horny a lot, and watching my fair share of the beast with two backs online, the satisfaction of lustful instincts is the easy bit. The all encompassing and wild, fiery passions of a pair of minds and couple of bodies that are mutual, is so rare. Sex, is nothing, without love. I truly believe that. Still! What a mug, eh? If I didn't, I would not be me, yes? That's right. So, wanking is fine, but real sex is different. It's almost a miracle for me to be that into someone. Rebecca probably. But if her and I were in a room together, would my desires comeforth, or would nothing..come. Eeeeshhh..I think i'd know, and so would she. Naughty brunette bastard. I like her very much. Anyway, here are some made up rules of attraction, written from the personal of a person who doesn't exist, to nobody. "Man seeking woman. Must have small eyes and big fists. Must like looking at a picture of a horse standing on it's hind legs, wearing a top hat. Must be sexually aroused by footage of lepers fleeing earthquakes. Must have clitoris that looks like the face of Doc out of Back to the future. Must like being sick through a megaphone" Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[04 May 2008|04:09pm] Hot and heavy, irritable work. Nothing much until the last half hour, then typically, the late people rolled in. During work, some maypole dancers and drummers convened in the car park, I gather part of some twinning ceremony. All quite festive. There was a terrifying twenty foot model of a french bloke, and a nun of equal size. I had to hide behind a counter. It freaked me right out. One more day of this poxy Bank Holiday to go. Sigh. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

[04 May 2008|12:50am] Ten days until my holiday. So close, and yet, so far. So near, yet, so distant. I need this holiday so much, you've no idea. I am desperately tired, and nothing will feel better than waking up during that time, knowing I can just stay there. Bank holiday is half over. Just Sunday lunch and Monday to get done. Then another week until the fourteenth. Get yer lovely gas giants here.

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