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[10 Oct 2005|02:57am] |
Shh....shh..shut it!
It's late. Very late. And i'm up, at a time when the birds are looking at their watches and getting the bugles out. At least in the summer.
But, it was very much worth staying up for.
I'm off to bed now, bombadiers. Crash me a strangler!
Goodnight.
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[10 Oct 2005|03:39pm] |
I am fucking furious.
I will explain more in a moment, firstly however i'll concentrate on the nice things. I had a beautiful chat this morning that raised my spirits and left me relaxed and happy. We talked a while and about many things, poetry...music..people..and it was simply lovely. My heart lifted, I showered and dressed to begin my afternoon tenure's washing up.
I dislike Monday's at the best of times, with it's disparate orders, fridge cleaning duties and late people. Today infuriated me beyond the limits of my rage.
The floor was filthy. Not just dirty, fucking bloody filthy. Naturally, it gets this way every day, but if left for two without maintenance, it is a pit. It looks like a buffalo has been wiping it's arse all over it. I know why, and it is because the two kitchen porters (Loosely labelled here) have not fucking well cleaned it. On Sunday. The day of the week on which it is at it's most trampled over, spilt on and dirtied. And they haven't touched it. Not with mop, water, or detergent. I spent half an hour JUST cleaning the sodding thing. Scraping the crap trodden into it, sweeping it, washing it, and just that process takes a while as it is truly caked on.
So, i'm not a happy man. I am on half term next week, and so will not have to endure it a week today, but if on the following week I come in and find the same SHITHOLE facing me, i'm going to shout at these two. Because I am getting fucked off. It's putting a strain on I, the waiting staff (Who are getting dirty cutlery back that has supposedly been cleaned), and anyone else who has to clean up after them.
I understand these are young teenagers who have little experience, and who have possibly no interest in hygiene, but to at least attempt to clean a floor is a start. And as for not bothering, that is no excuse. They're paid to fucking work there, just as I or anyone else, regardless of wage differences, they are employed to do a fucking job. And i'm sick of it.
Apart from that i'm just spiffing.
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[10 Oct 2005|03:52pm] |
Right shut up and settle down, you bunch of christ repairers.
Link of the day:
http://www.oddcast.com/sitepal/demos/tts/frameset.php?frame1=talk
This is a text to speech program that is eerily spot on in it's phonetic reproduction of what you type in. This means you can type swear words into it and gas away with big fucking laughs at the results.
Do it!
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[10 Oct 2005|04:54pm] |
Apart from arresting dialogue and the futility of washing up until the world drops into it's own arsehole, I have been thinking about cd buying.
It's been a long time since I have procured a cd. Most of the audio congregation I have now consists of mp3's collated and collected for many a year.
But! Next week is holiday time! This means, clothes shopping. That means, forgetting about buying clothes and buying some fucking great smashing music instead. And possibly a Gamecube.
If they still sell them, that is. I began to amass funds again with Aleks back in June, and so should have about 120 quid. That'll be enough money to buy the shitting console, Zelda, and some music. And *cough*, some sunglasses. That would be the clothes. Shades. In the fucking winter.
I know, I know.
And I don't care. There are bright November days, are there not? In fact, if you think about it, without humidity, it's EVEN brighter than normal, necessitating some eye gear. Really stupid eyegear.
The kind that goes with my long cat, in fact. And my hair.
I am in the mood for indulgence. It's been too long since i've treated myself. Now, having no pressing travel plans I can do so.
And if that means buying ridiculously innapropriate fashion accesories, I shall do so, sir. Unhand me! This is a sex shop for clowns, now why didn't you say? I shall take a pair of those big shoes shaped like phallues, and then walk past a pensioner's outing, honking my horn. And I don't mean that one, either.
Regarding music, I have it in mind to find two shiny cunts. The first is Promenade, a rare album I still haven't yet re-aquired since I broke it.
This album encapsulates perfectly many romantic feelings, and for me it bears a warming and curiously apt structure that lends itself to my year. Every time I listen to the songs on it...
I remember. I never, ever forget, but the music makes the air wintry again, and vivaldi steps out of an alley. My hand is inclined into a brush of silk. I remember fondly all, and I will never stop.
.....
And that album is the one that echoes the entire thing. Stunningly. Ever thought a record was written for you? Or for you and another? Okay, obviously I know you do, it's a rhetorical question, but this is a whole album. London could have played the whole thing that day.
So yes, I may find that. If not it's Absent Friends, which is inconsistent and in parts breathtakingly insipid, but it has Sticks and Stones, whose melody is a mountain range orchestra, rolling up and down with an ecstatic, flying glee.
The other is the Mylo lp Destroy Rock and Roll. Precisely for the unbelievably cool and fruity pastiche of Dr Beat, with it's scattered vocoder and pulsing rhythm. Out of all the songs played in Franks, this one genuinely got my ass shaking in it's holster.
Oh yes. I may have to check out some reviews first, but as i'm being a gleeful trinket whore, I may just take the plunge.
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[10 Oct 2005|06:02pm] |
I'm in trouble with Bolb. Earlier I picked up her Amazon packaged and tore it open, sniggering and knowing that inside was the When the Wind blows dvd. Naturally I couldn't wait to watch it, knowing that it would raise her chagrin to chortlesome proportions when she came home to find me watching her film.
Sure enough, as I sat watching the touching antics of two pensioners in the midst of a nuclear war, the front door clicked.
"Phyllis, what the fuck have you done, HOW DARE YOU!", she said as I sat, feet up on the desk..opened parcel on the table, dvd spinning.
"I couldn't wait i'm afraid", I cheered, laughing at her barely veiled anger.
"I can't believe it! What if it was something I didn't want you to open..like...like fucking Dogs on hell or something?"
Of course, there is no such film. However, due to this vitriol and the resultant ideas in my head, I took to making up a fucking fake dvd cover and pretending it was real. Here it is:
Bolb continued to carp, and I snorted loudly at my creation. Calm down Bolb, we got a great made up film out of it!
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