|
[18 Oct 2004|08:30am] |
Another morning, another war between bowel and Guiness. And the yawns.
This room is emptying of furniture, yet looks more untidy than ever....books on the desks...me on the chair...what a dump.
The Bell Inn was inundated with the tediously familiar and the bereft of soul last night, characters that provide no nourishment to the heart or mind, that is everybody apart from Bolby and Vince.
They joined me partly through my scribing of my essay, which i'm quite proud of. I lurch wildly from different angles in writing, presumably due to my inconsistent, impatient, undecided nature...but it's nicely done generally, even with a few points of change that came to me whilst writing.
I think it is good enough...it's certainly not the workings of an imbecile......I did take three days to hack at the fucking thing. It was like pulling teeth, then getting dentures, then pulling them out again. As well as the gum.
Bolb arrived then, providing respite from the background bland talk....whilst I wrote she drew, pretty sketches of Des looking angry, with his paw trapped in a carpet.
Yes, that happened yesterday. And you know it did. YOU KNOW IT!
Vince, who being largely ignored by just about everyone in the bar, joined us and despite my trying to get on with my work, I was in no mood to distance myself from a man, who despite his difficulties is very intelligent and decent company. He talked to Bolb and I, as attempts to converse with others were met with pure ignorance.
These are so called civilised people, so called intelligent....so...hang on...wait..no...they're not...let's face it...despite his perpetual inebriation, Vince has things to say, and is possibly about a trillion times more intelligent than any given person in the bar, as given a conversation with ANYBODY, Vince embraces it....he'll talk....when confronted with him, these cretins merely think (Or EVEN say), oh it's Vince...nutter..pisshead...thrown out of the New Inn)....
Fuckheads. Yeah, I sometimes mimic Vince's voice and demeanour for chuckles..but I do this with just about everyone, and it's if anything a compliment...it means there's something in their character worth imitating..what I and Bolb also do is try to encourage Vince, even if it means he's on our ear all evening...because if not he will by his own words be a "pisshead when i'm forty, probably will be, don't have the confidence to so anything"
Probably due to this meatbank of dullards who every day treat him with such condescending wanker arrogance. What the fuck have you lot above this man? Only your abilities to be congenital arseholes.
Anyway, yes. Vince could be so much more. The mass will never be anything other than mumbling, cliquey dickheads, leading their sorry little lives treating anything other than crushing familiarity with the utmost contempt.
Don't even FUCKING get me started on the treatment of Sam again.
Went home, no cats. Bolb and I were LET DOWN, felines. Make yer beelines. We got in, and she began to remove internal organs from fish. No Des. I went to bed, listened to Frodo and Sam coughing and spluttering up Mount Doom..
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2004|08:48am] |
ITV is having a spelling contest. This is like The Krankies running a festival of biology or something. Yes, text your answers now, is you spelt "U", or "yoooo"
The only way their core audience would stay tuned to anything involving the stringing together of letters to form words and sentences is if the letters were stumbling about a nightclub, arguing in a street, or draped around a ladpdancing pole. Dirty filthy letter "E" action...look at that fucking middle line!
Stick a pair of tits on a "p", and call it "Extreme alphabet"
Load of wank. Don't try to learn your audiences, ITV, send them to a channel worthy of it. BBC? Er......oh dear......
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2004|08:52am] |
Oh dear, another more liquidy toilet trip. Thanks, Guiness.
The birds sit around the edge of our bird table, pecking at fatballs and nuts. They should seem more beautiful, but in this grey day, they look like desperate thieves, trying to scrape the last remnants from a robbery gone bad...
Bloody birds. I'll sling them in the slammer and no mistake.
Work just for the lunchtime, then. No Dan, and so it is merely David and I, to stand about cleaning and talking about dvds or something. Following this, i'll ready myself for college by swearing and pressing my hair down for an hour, then catching the train with it's chavs and business men, and try to learn me something.
That'll be my day. I shall be glad to see night.
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2004|09:15am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Armando Ianucci Shows '93 - Radio 1. |
] |
Ah, wonderful brilliant Armando Ianucci. Why can I not write like you, bloody sodding tosser. I am currently listening to his Radio1 shows from '93.
The humour is brilliant, crystalline and sharp. Much of it is political, but still pretty much current as many of these events are interchangeable with current affairs. Not much changes.
Imagine a spider digging a hole and throwing itself in.
|
|
| I'm sorry.... |
[18 Oct 2004|09:57am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Give it up - Public Enemy. |
] |
"Mrs Williams?"
"Yes......oh...no..."
"I'm afraid your husband..."
"Oh god......"
"We're afraid that he's now....got snakes for feet....i'm so sorry..."
"Oh jesus! NO!"
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2004|10:08am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
You only live twice - Royal Philarmonic Orchestra |
] |
Fades the flower,
in the autumn twilight,
all beauty gone, in the chilling winds
that carry it's petals away
|
|
| A cornucopia of laughs. |
[18 Oct 2004|10:54am] |
I always wanted to write a brilliant Final Fantasy X spoof. But..somebody got there first...this is funny, intelligently written, and bang on. Damn them. Played the game? You'll love it, know it, and laugh at every bit:
http://amethyst-angel.com/ffxtt_main.html
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2004|10:57am] |
Okay, it is time to go. A three hour's labouring awaits, after which I may be back..i'm sot sure. Really depends on carpet laying times.
However, we shall reconvene at a later date.
Until then! Merry up yourselves! Have a beer! Eat a balloon! No! Don't do that!
No.
Bye for now.
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2004|03:37pm] |
A fair enough afternoon. Not busy, but the usual irritation stemmed from the fact that Ian took an order ten minutes after last orders.
Cheers, mate. And these were lengthy cooking meals too....for fuck's sake. Obsequious to customers, disadainful of staff. That's the way it works around here.
Now I am forty minutes away from college, and the teeth jarring train trip, the weary stumble through Broadstairs, and the three hours of trying to stay awake, not due to boredom but because i'm not tuned into intensive learning at six thirty in the evening.
That'll be it for now, then. If the computer is around i'll tell you what I did tomorrow, tonight. Er...no..reverse that.
Bolb was walking about with an empty crisps multipack wrapper on her arm earlier. Sometimes even I suspend disbelief, and simply stare aghast.
No Des. We are again let down by this non show of a feline twat.
Bye for now.
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2004|03:55pm] |
"The spiders dropped one by one, INTO THAT GAPING HOLE, IN THE MIDDLE OF NIGEL'S FACE!"
This is a quote from the best cartoon i've seen in ages. It's like a series of twisted Road Dahl style stories, with a scary edge. This one has an obviously disturbed youngster called Nigel who enjoys clicking his mouth, rolling eyeballs, and er...killing spiders. He kills...a spider with millions of small ones in her stomach, they turn into ghost spiders and come back to drop into his sleeping mouth, thusly turning him good.
Well, i've learnt something.
It was ace.
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2004|04:37pm] |
Time to get ready for college, then. After that it's Guiness Business as usual. And tomorrow? A fucking group of twenty four people in the back bar.
Fuck. There goes my quiet end to a working week.
Do not expect me to be cheery tomorrow afternoon, then.
Bye for now.
|
|