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[30 Dec 2004|09:28am] |
And so it was with my great big Italian coat on and Bolb in tow that I went to the Bell last night, strolling in as if I FUCKING WEAR THINGS LIKE THAT ALL THE TIME. Anne Byrne is back, gave her a kiss before she resumed usual position on the fruit machine.
Graham came over and joined Bolby and I, and the usual banter ensued. Staring into the mob we could find no hope, amongst the blankness of human thought naked against the pub's interior, no judgement but ours, no change, no desire. We went back to getting slaughtered.
Then a phone call...Jo called me over, and I heard my dad's voice amongst the background noise, tinny and distant....
"Hello?"
"it's me.."
"Oh..alright?"
"Yeah...don't be too late"
"Why?"
"She's phoned"
"WHAT?"
Needless to say, I had to leave very quickly...as in...after having one more pint of Guiness. I needed courage, alright? Said my goodbyes to Helen and Graham, and went through streets as if walking the paths of the dead. Not running, just briskly strolling, feeling slightly nervously sick...I got home and opened a warm can of stout, picked up the phone and called......and...
She was just like she is here. Really. Everything I imagined her to be...her voice rather brassy and with a slight huskiness..possibly due to her tiredness......but...Suzy is real. I can't remember all the things we talked about, before we both had to get some sleep, but we never ran out of things to say. My initial acheings of nerve gave way to my real character, the one she likes so much...and apparently her appraisal of me is much the same. Yes, she's lovely. Even more so than I thought. And that was a lot
I shall phone her again before I go to London.
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[30 Dec 2004|09:59am] |
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music |
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Crossing those Hills - Final Fantasy IX - Nobou |
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Just chilling out....yes. Here we have just such a record. Such a cutely affecting little rolling melody. Puts the right back into...er...wrongs. Or something.
Today I have to work, twice. No Andy, who is ill. No Dee tonight, who is also ill. I'm also ill, but i'm the only person that can effectively do my job. So I work.
Fucking great stuff. Anyone want to do my shifts? No, thought not.
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[30 Dec 2004|11:02am] |
Oh baby. My Screen Burn book has well and truly FUCKING arrived. Four years of scowling hatred from Charlie Brooker. It's a weekly column about programmes on that week, and up until now i've only been able to read about four of them. Laughs guaranteed for at least a minute.
Right, now then. I have Dark Fucking Crystal as well. A bunch of felt maniacs and a crystal. In those days people knew how to fuck about on set with their hands up the stars arses. Nowadays those stars are made of flesh. Some of them. Faceless amorphous SACKS of flesh, admittedly. Jennifer Lopez the meat bank. An oval slice of cold meat, served up for wankers. Her eyes are pickled onions and her chin is a piece of toast. Seen Out of Sight? Yes, she may as well be a mannequin with a voice box crammed into it's skull.
Cunts.
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[30 Dec 2004|11:12am] |
Right, it's time to go and wash up after the howling over sixties, as they claw their way clumsily to their seats, knocking each other over like skittles, wearing grey, shambling into the back bar. What is it about grey? Why FUCKING grey? Even Ian slams cheer into the bar by wearing a lemon shirt occasionally. It looks like he's compressed meringue and injected into the material.
I'm off. Bye, muck spreaders.
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[30 Dec 2004|03:40pm] |
Yep, another truly fucktastic afternoon at work. Only twenty eight, but too much cleaning made me a very irritable boy yet again. The apex of my annoyance being that fucking filthy floor. Every hateful minute protracted beyond it's three hours.
More hateful plate grooming later. For now, tea and monitor gazing.
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[30 Dec 2004|05:36pm] |
Terrible programs clutter the New Year's Day like pebbles in a car engine. We have a cluster of "Audience With" specials, the kind of shows that feature cock licking audiences lining up to gaze at celebs seemingly picked from a hat...whatever do we need one for Des O Connor for? Not only does he sound like a man drowning on agitated tears, he presents a fucking show in front of an audience every week anyway. The cunt. As for Kylie....
What they should do it have an Audience with..the Audience. So they can have a good hard long look at themselves.
Lionel richie is in the audience. As fucking usual. He also occupies a growing list of celebs with heads that look as if they're stretched on a rack for half an hour every day. Other sufferers are Celine Dion, and Lyle Lovett.
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