| Another message from Miss M. |
[05 Nov 2003|08:53am] |
She seemed quite astonished that i should like the look of her in glasses. In her words, she thought herself an "ugly librarian".
What seems even more odd is that she says no other man has ever complimented her on her look in glasses. Hey, i guess i just like the variation in style and look of a woman. Maybe i'm odd...
But that's just it. Zoe M's look makes my spine shiver...she's not only strikingly beautiful, but she looks good in glasses. It's the eyes... wonderous green diamonds. They've never been more powerful than recently. She's never been good at hiding emotion behind her eyes. They show everything.
Anyway, it's nice to know she takes the compliment, if being a little surprised by it. What still saddens me is a friend i'd love to have and know well is in my life so little.
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[05 Nov 2003|09:04am] |
I suppose i was depressed last night. There were several reasons for this:
Roy is moving to Scotland. The stone has always been a good friend, by and large. When he goes, that's one less. Then there's the baby thing.
Let me explain. All i hear is talk of children. Roy, Gordon, Zoe. All have children. I can't even find a fucking woman. But there it is.
And you've not been really broody until you've seen Zoe and Rosie together. Rosie is soooooooo cute, and talks more than her mother. Zoe is so tiny, that their heights aren't that far apart either, even though Zoe is 26 and Rosie is 4.
But yeah...different lives i suppose. Best not to think about these things now. I have Macbeth to annihilate.
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| Macbeth Madness |
[05 Nov 2003|07:40pm] |
Firework's Night. A night for shit encrusted chavs to shamble the streets fliailing overpriced flowery explosives at each other. Fucking hell.
Anyway, it was great fun in English today, we had to act out a scene from Macbeth. This included an element of physical acting...and i had to partake in the killing of Banquo; his part played by a middle aged cross-stitch enthusiast.
I thoroughly enjoyed this, and read reasonably well, despite it being very difficult to overcome chronic embarrassment. Now i have the script though, i can practise my speaking and acting. With good reason; we have to do the scene proper in two weeks.
So my thespian pretences are to come to the fore in a round-about way. Just need to work on my tone and emotion, daaaaaahling. As a certain jet black haired thesp loves to callllll everyyybooodddyyy...
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| A moment. |
[05 Nov 2003|07:57pm] |
This is from my word processor. Which allows a little bit more detail. Not necessarily a diary entry, in fact it starts off as me almost writing as somebody else. Kind of flitting between real and er...not real if you like.
Why did I find myself in that bar today? What is the pull of it? There’s no-one else there usually. Before it was peppered with a few…I suppose…fishermen…they had that “sea dog” look; haggard and unshaven. However, I’m sure fishing is no longer that intensive… given the rise of moisturisers, and erm….GPS systems, and stuff. Maybe it’s for show. Or maybe they are simply unkempt drunkards.
At any rate…. I find myself in there every week. Around this time the place is utterly barren, as I just mentioned. Today there were two dim-boid lads shouting and swearing at the fruit machine…as they thumped tens of pound coins into it, and finally slouching up to the bar, declaring “Spent one hundred pounds in twenty minutes, so boring.”
If I had ventured, I would suggest, it’s fucking folly to do this, but I thought this unwise. One of them trudged off to try another machine.
This is half an hour of my week, every week, whilst I await the three forty five train bound for home. There is a curious bliss to it. Although I am lonely and half wishing someone to join me…the anonymity of my existence there does not make me look like some sad bastard that is waiting for someone. I feel quite content, in a different and more relaxed reverie, watching the odd person filter into the bar, whilst the stereo skips and splutters through an ill devised selection of 70’s soul, and nineties pop.
The bar lady here is attractive. She has a warm smile, even to greet such a stranger as I. I do not know if this is simply a Thorley Taverns smile…or a genuine smile. Maybe something in-between. But she does have a pretty face, and fairly dark hair, which I find enticing by default.
Having been to this bar every week for a month, I really should make more conversation. Perhaps I will, but it doesn’t seem like a necessity. One week I’ll come up with some glittering piece of subtle with from out of nowhere. We’ll see. It would be nice to converse with some new people.
A little moment to convalesce then, in a world of weariness and rush.
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| PHIL |
[05 Nov 2003|08:02pm] |
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"Hello, i'm Phil. And for years...i've been walking around with dustbins stapled to my groin. Like big fucking plastic testicles."
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