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[04 Nov 2003|08:18am] |
Spoke to the lovely Zoe last night. She appeared on IM simulating coughing in text form. The poor baby has a cold.
She now convinced me it was Peter from Fame Academy, and not Alex as previously mentioned. Hmm...
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[04 Nov 2003|08:42am] |
Sheer Macbeth tomorrow. Yes, it's back to GCSE English for Mr Barnpot here. I intend to analyse every sodding text, every syllable, every impenetrable word, until there is nothing left.
I don't like writing about Macbeth, but i will have to make the effort. It IS a good story though.
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[04 Nov 2003|06:09pm] |
Afternoon at David's:
3pm
Dave: I'll just show you this gym i got mate. Er....yeah....the rod is missing. Joel has a habit of pulling.
Me: Maybe it's under this big pile of clothes
Dave: Bloody better be. Doesn't work without it.
TEN MINUTES LATER
Dave: JOEL! Come up here, please.
(Tiny foosteps are heard, and Joel totters around the corner into the room)
Joel: SHooospp suey
Dave: Where is it?
Joel: Shosssp Suey!
Dave: Where is it?
Joel: Shooop Suey?
Dave: No...where is it?
Joel: Shopop Suey!
LATER
Dave: Where is it?
Joel: Shoppp Suey!
(And so on. Eventually David gives up, and we play Fifa 2004. Playing co-operatively, we score umpteen goals between us, but David is still shouting his head off)
Dave: Yeah...to me to me...that's the one....yeah...NO! BE PATIENT! PASS TO ME!
Me: Give me a chance! I'm just learning the controls...whoops..
Dave: No! You're meant to tackle him, not take his legs out!
LATER
Dave: 7-0! We only need one more and i'll be happy.
Me: You're not happy with 7 bloody nil?
Dave: Nah, i want even numbers
Me: Christ.
(Henry scores)
Dave: YEAASSSSSSS! GOAL! BEAUTIFFFULLL MATE! (Almost crushes me with a hug of immense grip)
Me: Dfavveeve....you're going to break my cnyoollr bone.e..e..
Dave: 8-0!
Me: We'd better not score again. The even number rule would require us to score AGAIN.
Dave: YEP!
So there you go. This game is admittedly fucking moorish.
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