"Friday can't hear you, so stop asking it to hurry up and then thanking it, you tools"
You currently find me trawling the BBC archives of Desert Island Discs. Got me nose on and took a trip back to 1951 to listen to one of the first shows with some dame Margaret Lockwood or other. I was mainly interested to see what songs folks from them days would pick, but somewhat predictably the wireless listeners were treated to the likes of Fantasia On Greensleeves; boating songs and Tchaikovsky. You see kids, pretending you like classical music to not be square is nothing new. Which brings me to my next point - have you heard about this new game everyone's playing? I'm a bit late to the party, but the game seems to be Who Can Be The Biggest Cunt?! Jesus wept, everyone's living out that one scene from Monty Python's Flying Circus with the 'woody' and 'tinny' words. "Oh, I know what would be funny, if I just string together weird and wonderful words no cunt or their dog has heard of, I'm sure to rake in the giggles! Even if the end result makes no bloody sense at all!" Then everyone's hitting out with sentences like "It was terribly horrific" what fuckballs are you fruit loops saying? Why say 'approach', is 'go up to' not good enough? Why say 'procrastinate', is 'laze' not good enough? Why say 'I am dearly satisfactory', is 'I am a massive wank' not good enough? Stop saying big words for the sake of it, Christ almighty. Big words for small people is what I always say. Oh, and stop personifying everything too. Friday can't hear you, so stop asking it to hurry up and then thanking it, you tools.
Whew. So, weekend. BBQ - next thing, the sandbox is getting brought out. Sandcastles are being built while hearts are being broken as one builder knocks the other's castle into oblivion (how am I doing with the needlessly larger words than needed shit?). That's my cue to grab a cold burger and hit the road, Jack. Then Sunday, we're off to that Nazi furniture shop, Ikea. When I say we're off to it, I mean in search of it. My favourite words in the English language soon follow once it's established we are well and truly lost: "I'm sorry, I should have listened to you" Damn fucking skippy. We, or rather I, eventually find it and some knobend called Fraser is trying to tell me how to scan my Loki or-whatever-the-shit-it-was-called chair. I read "Please enter your card" as "Please scan again". I must admit now, I actually have a bit of a problem with reading. I'm actually not dyslexic or anything like that, what it is, I got some tests done three years ago and what they have discovered, right, is that I'm actually quite thick. "I see, thank you doctor. At least now I have a name for it" Some hours later, instruction manuals are getting tossed to the wind in a true display of manliness. At least until the inevitable words come. "THAT. FUCKING. CHAIR!! IT'S NOT WORKING! I'M AWAY!" And away I am. I signal to one of the dogs on the way out - "You sort it out. We're a team"
So ends this entry. Please next entry, get lots of readers, ok thanks, bye. I'm joking. Pricks.
In a bit.
The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. If you were to ask me if this journal was worth reading and explained me to total strangers in a way only a man's insight into himself can, I'd say "No"
Saturday 3rd January 2009
No double entry. Went shopping for gifts with little to no energy in me. Got it all done and got a Who poster though. Then Mark, Charles and myself went to a CD/DVD/book sale convention thing. Got live Council, Who albums, Spencer Davis Group and decided to give the Charlatans a bash. Then back to Charles's for some Mortal Kombat Vs DC on 360. Fun. Then home to watch Slumdog Millionaire. I liked it. After chicken satay it's back to Mark's to play Spore. Again, I like it. Shame my PC is Windows BC or worse. The Flying Scotsman is quite a good film. So far this year has been nothing different, apart from a little tie-in with my sweet pea.
"Every year it's the same, and I feel it again"