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[16 Nov 2004|09:11am] |
I must be getting old. It takes about an hour for me to get the energy to write diary entries in the morning, after sitting and staring, trying to smash my head into semblance of thought.
Well, shut it and listen, then. Now you're here.
Trains were on time last night. Well, the train was. A cheery old lady sidled up to me on walking stick (Not literally ON the stick) and chatted to me about buses, leaves on the line, weather, and Ramsgate. The train lumbered into sight before long and it was once again off to Broadstairs.
Again, an uneventful journey. Mild, brisk air, my weatherbeaten jeans battling with my trainers, and my coat nailed shut just in case of a wind beating.
Heh. A reference.
College. A tidy, decent lesson comprising a reading by Paul of his essay on feminism in Wuthering Heights. And then speech study. Something I found a relief from the intensive literature pouring of WH. It was very interesting too, all sorts of things like elongated words, micropauses, and (1.0)...pauses.
Yes::, that's an elongation. Imagine me saying it(.), you bastards.
Got to the Bell after all this, said goodbye to Carole, and got sublimely wankered on four pints of Guiness, reading the paper and momentarily wondering why Phil's eyes seem to be becoming giant spheres and floating around the pub every so often. They're like balloons. Talked to Vince a bit too.
Went home and was roundly trashed, but not enough as to be able to miss squashed stick man Jamie Cullum pogoing through more of his grotty raping of jazz music on television. Ick.
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[16 Nov 2004|09:30am] |
I think cats are beginning to assume three pronged names because they think it makes them IT or something. Get this...the two PRICKS that battered me for attention last night.
A cat, black...with white splodge on it's chest....and bowl eyes...sauntering up to your's truly...crashing into my legs with serious aplomb...
I'm laughing and petting the cheery sod...when G Fucking of the D 2, suddenly smashes into view...before I know it i've got two felines scampering about my legs like flute playing leprechauns leading me on a merry dance. And they didn't fight! They were sharing the moonlight and laughs with me and each other.
Fucking presumptive pawed fucks. This was last night, and the cat I think was new. I shall name him "The Rockford Files". Unless Bolb has already done so.
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| Cats are like Final Fantasy X-2 |
[16 Nov 2004|10:04am] |
Don't know why, they just are. Full of beans, ridiculous...and..er......robotic dancing. Yes i'm back to oddball mode, again I thank you for coming to this dirt fest.
Buckle yer mobile, break the fiddle! But make sure it's not your's first.
I hope they show Scrooged this Christmas. Just so I can wonder whether it's embarrassing to like it or quite amusing. Especially that bit at the end where Bill Murray is encouraging the audience (Including those at home) to sing along. Fucking hell. I don't know if i'd rather comply or hurl bleach at the screen.
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[16 Nov 2004|11:20am] |
Okay, time to get back to it.....the dirt, the heat...the crap. And the sexual innuendo. It's work time again. See you lot......later.
I do hope I have some clean clothes. Think I should really buy some new stuff soon...my underwear really is falling apart like a cat and mouse peace convention.
God's sake.
Later, sweeties.
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[16 Nov 2004|03:41pm] |
What a merry orange sunset. Colours swirl about the afternoon and the sun sets still earlier every afternoon. A brisk walk after work today, shaking a lighter and cursing, as I peered through my "trying to be Bono" shades at the streets ahead.
We had a few in, not many....it is the brief period of calm at the Bell during the November month. The eye of the storm. The gap in the road. The pubic hairs in the bathtub.
Well, not that one.
Now i'm watching the Simpsons and feeling very nice, thank you very much.
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| Hey, hey, it's Disturbing Dad...and people say he monkeys around, but he's too busy injecting drugs |
[16 Nov 2004|04:05pm] |
and crying, to get anybody down.
Disturbing Dad: Series 2 Episode 1
Museum.
(Disturbing Dad is driving along the motorway, on the way to pick up his son for their latest outing.)
Dad: Come on bitch, PHONE....do you think I have this fucking phone for a laugh? Actually don't...like I want to hear your witches voice cackling down a radioactive block at me. Fuck!
*Theme tune from The Sweeney plays*
Dad: Hmm...I really must throw this fucking cd away.
*rinnnngngngngn*
Dad: And that bloody bell i've got hanging up in the boot.
*Briinngnng*
Dad: Ah, there's the cow now. I am definately in the country...yooo hooo! Cow!....WOO! Oh, and my phone's ringing. Hello?
Mum's voice: I got your message....for the last time....I don't want you to come here.......
Dad: What? Do you not want me to see my son? I've got fucking rights! He's mine too, dammit! I'll not have a fucking argument! I've got a document that tells me i'm within rights to see him, if I continue to observe the court's recommendation of not burning his hair!
Mum: No, I mean, you've already got him...you picked him up half an hour ago
Junior: Hey, dad.
Dad: ARGHGHHGHGHGHGH!
Junior: Dad, please stop screaming. You're scaring me and there are cars spinning to avoid us.
Dad: Sorry....SORRY JUNIOR....HHAAHHAH! Must have forgotten you were here.......want a chocolate bar?
Junior: That's a bicycle repair kit, dad. It's all tarry.
Dad: Just like liquorice, isn't it?
Junior: Not really...
Dad: Heheheh of course it is! Guess where we're off too, son!
Junior: It's not the David Cronenberg divorcee's hate club, is it?
Dad: NO! Something even better! We're going to a fucking museum!
Junior: Well.....sounds reasonably less traumatic than usual. Daddy, stop twitching.
Dad: BREEEEEACK! BREEEE! BREEEEGAR!
MORE LATER
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| Now this is interesting |
[16 Nov 2004|05:15pm] |
Reviews point to this being like final fantasy x set in Middle Earth.
Good enough. Time to check out some sites about it. Woo!
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