Those perishin' spheres! Dozens of 'em!'s Blurty Day [entries|friends|calendar] Those perishin' spheres! Dozens of 'em! [ website | Sister Diary: Anive ] [ userinfo | blurty userinfo ] [ calendar | blurty calendar ]

[16 Oct 2004|08:59am] I threw on my suit jacket this morning. It's freezing and there's no heating on. Quite why not is not being told to me, more than likely my mother considers it a waste of money to have the radiators on when it's actually...you know, bollock freezing. FREEZING. When she's gone i'll put them on. Stuart and Lucy turned up at my house last night, as I was desperately trying to coax my hair into adopting a decent throwoever, rather than springing back up again like a broken matress. I told them I was working on some homework, as i'd intended to do, and I would see them later. Took the bloody homework to the Bell, and failed to write more than a fucking sentence as Stoney came in. However, it was a welcome distraction as I have not seen him in a few weeks, and felt like a new beginning. College and learning was on the agenda, how different it is to school, and just why is it that these places still feature sloping foreheaded imbeciles intent on sniggering through every lesson. Who knows. Bolb arrived and the universe got discussed, whilst she foraged for pennies. Well, Stoney talked about the universe, the Phylly brain went numb when battered with comets of "string theory" and the like. Although I did make a decent joke about my dad's face being a galaxy. Chortlesome. S went home after three, and we two decided to visit upon Stuart and Lucy at the New Inn. Arrived to find them reversing the concept of pool, staggering about with some cues and people. It was odd, they were involved in some sort of absurd tag team game, and I took a half of Guiness to sit amongst strangers and glasses...beer coasters and an ashtray, laughing as each stepped to me during a game, trying to look as if I was still relatively sober. Bolb came in from the cashpoint, and we stabbed some sonds into the jukebox in a desperate attempt to erase Will Young from it. Sadly, it was not a randomiser. It was chosen by someone. And they had about thirty songs on. Fuck, then. The New Inn got progressively louder and speech got blurrier, and that's what it's like. Some sort of overlit club with thin glasses, big glasses, thin girls, big girls, girls in ill fitting jean shorts, shouting... Went home at about 12:30. tried to stay up late to give the Guiness a chance to leave. Bad mistake, I had a horrid burning in the stomach. In any case, I have no hangover, which is good. What I do have is a yawning, irritable countenance. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[16 Oct 2004|09:34am] My stomach feels like an empty bus shelter, full of disused papers and dust and dog-ends. I appear to have neglected it these last few weeks, drinking too much and eating too little. So i'm making a bacon sandwich. Throwing yeast and pig at it should quell it's unhappy stance. If not then i'll simply stare blankly and eat a cake later to up the stakes. I have work today, twice. It's nothing, really. Just a simple Saturday, albiet with dirty clothes, as most of them are still on the fucking line. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[16 Oct 2004|09:44am] Hmm...my sandwich is excellent, but afforded me something new to gripe about. Whenever I make a bacon sandwich, I take great care to cut cleanly through the middle, with a sharp knife, until I can be absolutely sure that upon removing knife two perfect halves are left behind. But, like some crappy food version of the "sawing in half" trick...there's always one sodding flap of bacon hanging out, like a fucking half pulled out eyeball hanging out of a dead cow's face. I have to ittitable wrench it clumsily, and stuff it into the baconless corner of sandwich it should have occupied in the first place. Fucking hell. Get your lovely gas giants here!

The Cockney Rhyming Slang that never made it. [16 Oct 2004|11:01am] Today: A PAHHND of your best diseases!/He does as he pleases. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[16 Oct 2004|11:03am] Okay, time to shuffle off to work in the only way I know how, broken headphones slung over the head like tiny earmuffs, snarling stare, and sighing footsteps. Better get ready. Back to despererately try and smash out homework later. If I don't get it finished today i'll have to hurriedly write some old crap tomorrow night. And the likely event is that i'll just start doodling again, writing swear words and smoking. Today though, work. Lots of veg to refresh, gravy to strain, and that's all before I get to my own jobs. I don't think it'll be busy this afternoon, but the death knoll is really in that sentence as regards that theory, isn't it? Keep charmin'. Get your lovely gas giants here!

"You're not helping" [16 Oct 2004|11:15am] "Alright, mate?" "PETE. Hello." "Just seeing how you are...sorry to hear about you and Jackie...bad.." "Yeah, divorcing...please don't try to help m..." "TO CHEER YOU UP MATE! Guess what?" "*Sigh*...look, I know you mean well Pete, but i'm cry..." "I decided to hire happy couples from across the country, and get them to dance merrily together in a flurry of kisses and ballroom dancing on YOUR FRONT LAWN, to show you what romantic bliss can be like!" "Oh my god...jesus...you........." "NO NEED TO THANK ME! Meet the Jones....the Fishers...the Barnes..........they're all blisfully happy!" "Sob....weep....JACKIE!" "Hmm...wonder if i'm really helping." Get your lovely gas giants here!

[16 Oct 2004|04:45pm] Arrived at work, to the sight of another three buckets crammed full of laughing plastic tubs, chortling plates, and screaming wooden spoons. Not to mention a thousand vegetables waiting to be refreshed. I was in a good mood for most of this busy shift, bar the "end" of cooking time, when three minutes after this supposed cessation in cooking, a fucking order for three meals came in, and then a further order for two. Thanks, folks. Do you ever think of not turning up late? Is that all you do? I wasn't happy, but I made do. Now. I'm home, and trying to smash this fucking essay together like a caveman banging at a steel block. It's not happening. I've lost all my brains. I feel like I should be writing about skateboards and baseball or something. Get your lovely gas giants here!

All the afternoon's football results, with commentary. [16 Oct 2004|05:02pm] [ mood | amused ] [ music | Down came a chortling thought - Me. ] By someone who has a lingering persuasion to support a certain team, due to a promise to a long lost friend. But, I also largely despise this onion SACKBALL kicking farce, with it's bloated headed non personalites, and it's largely obnoxious bank of screaming, spitting, arse minded fans. Truly a control for the common man. Anyway, in my own "inimitable" style, let's peruse the results. Arsenal 3-1 Aston Villa Villa took a shock lead here, after coaxing Arsenal off the pitch with some rabbits in hats, before chloroforming all eleven players. When the Arsenal finally came round, it was time to win again. So they did. By the third goal, Aston Villa were crying blood into their shoes. Blackburn 0-4 Middlesbrough Miserable Blackburn fall to a crushing defeat. Literally, as Jimmy Floyd laughing all the way to the Baink lowers a giant football the size of a tiny asteroid onto the baffled heads of the players, crushing their spindly man bodies to a pulpy mash, and then painting the stadium with it. Bolton 1-0 Crystal Palace Further proof if need be that expensively fashioned structures will never win at anything. Everton 1-0 Southampton Everton and Southampton couldn't be bothered to be paid lots of money for bashing a sphere around a green rectangle, without actually doing anything with it as usual, so they simply turned up and stood staring at the crowd for an hour and a half. Some wept, some laughed, some shook and screamed. The crowd simply "ugged" in response. Then finally, a ball was thrown onto the pitch by a pitying old man....to the delights of the cardboard cutout, and dog watching, a goal was scored. Fans cried in relief. A woman with flowers hugged the players...finally football had come to football. Fulham 2-4 Liverpool Imagine he's fucking crying...GO ON More scouse chortlings, with Liverpool turning the tables, by Fooling Flippantly Fucking Facetious Fulham with a hardware sale. The Londeners were impaired to defeat by dodgy tables, poorly fashioned lampshades, and a big wooden cock. West Brom 0-0 Norwich Twenty thousand people stared at a scoreboard imaginging that they were looking at two big eggs shaking hands. Just like every week. More Fucking Bootball fun next week! Yes, I meant that. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[16 Oct 2004|05:20pm] Maddening prose is affecting my essay writing like a dog biting at my wrists and brain. the fucking thing is coming together slightly, and should be in some sort of form by the time I present it. It's a tad like dropping a few drops of ink into a bucket of water, eventually it fills out and everything's covered. I'm hoping that's the case here. I have some good observations, cleanly described...the use of madness in the text, cleverly underpinning that sense of horror with good visecral language and plays on the senses, as well as anxiety. It doesn't really matter if it is not perfect, it's merely homework after all. We're not submitting. But I would like to have something good to present. Having the time I should have liked to have really read the book first. But I can't tune the mind to this prose when it is being bombarded with people, plates, drink, and noise. I have no relaxing moments. Get your lovely gas giants here!

392? 3-9-2? Three hundered and FUCKING ninety two? [16 Oct 2004|05:25pm] What? Where the fuck are all the words I wrote? Billy Fucknose! I'll have to think up some more winging bullshit to wank all over the page. I'm sure essays are supposed to be 600 words or so in the case of this study. A limerick as I think: Tom Beagles, had many eagles, and a claw made from his wife He was arrested, for stealing all the money invested in a plastic eagle firm But Tom Beagles Never forgot his eagles and gave them all a home And when he came out He discovered with no doubt! That they were all now dead. Tom wept. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[16 Oct 2004|05:40pm] Just shown what I got to dad. He thinks it's great, and just needs connecting into form. Yeah, I suppose it's true, the answers are there, it merely needs tidying up, which i'll do tomorrow. Let's face it, he was apparently racked with the same kind of mock jealousy when he saw my A+ essay from a few weeks back, also says sometimes my problem is that I don't think enough of myself to write more. Perhaps this is true. I'm often afraid the answers will look stupid, will be completely off the mark or not even in the same place as the mark. Writing essays for me is often like trying to stuff an angry bull down a French toilet. Just never seems to fit. Ah well, I suppose the grades in the past should convince me that no matter how wrong it looks, i'm doing SOMETHING right. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[16 Oct 2004|05:45pm] Okay, now then. Putting homework aside for the moment, i'm having little trouble staving off the temptation to buy tobacco today. Which is a necessity, as I threw the better part of a twenty away yesterday, on drink, and some baccy that was smoked by about three people, including myself. That's all gone, in about four hours. So none of that. Work is looking evil. Two tables of eight, a nine, and the rest of the pub is full. I doubt I shall emerge early from this hot holy plonguer's hell. It could be worse. It could be a lot worse, in fact. But it's still far from a cheery prospect. Having three balls of testosterone cooking and shouting all over the kitchen will take it's toll too. And that's not to mention the late tables, the lost orders, the starters on R1 having been finished ten minutes ago, and nobody has told Andy about it. After this, assuming I get away decently early, it's time to go to the New Inn. A tremendous boon in it's late closing, as it gives me an hour, rather than five minutes, to have a drink and chill out, man. Man. MAN...... There is a band on tonight. It'll be easier to make it look like i'm enjoying myself, leaning on the bar out of place with my Human League hair, fawn coat, and sipping nervously on my Guiness. I may move a leg in rhythm tonight, who knows? Get your lovely gas giants here!

[16 Oct 2004|06:12pm] Very interesting e-mail from Suzanne, as regards plays. Thank you again honey, for everything you're doing. If I could i'd cover you with kisses. Muah, at any rate. And then some. Having just wolfed down my evening rapast like a hyena tearing at a wounded deer, i'm now boiling kettle for tea, after which we ride! Playfully to work! Then my mood will darken considerably with each thundering plate into the bucket! Hooray! Yes. Until the morning then. 10 Petty criminals| Get your lovely gas giants here!

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