Thursday, 5 March 2009
Rugby hating
Throughout my living memory I have always put people that I meet into categories of trust and personality. A bit like giving a certain type of people a mental Nazi style badge, but not as… horrible. My own personal worst enemies are what I like to call “Rugby types”. Now those of you know me will know that of all the sports I detest the most is rugby, not just because of the homoerotic “masculinity” that’s involved when playing it, nor the fact players have to stop every 30 seconds so they can stick their heads in-between each others arses and try and get the egg shaped ball. But the real reason behind my hatred of rugby is not just the fact that any sport the Welsh and Scottish can be good at isn’t a real sport, but it’s the type of people that follow it. Now I think you’re all aware of the types, mainly upper working to middle class white men, who scoff at football because of its “thuggish” and “cowardly” style of play, but when attending a game, will tell you to either sit down or stop swearing. The type of people who’ll quite happily call a member of the BNP a racist, but will cross the road when ever a group of black youths are walking towards them. The type of people who judge people on whether they’ve been to university or not, and who go travelling during their gap year without worrying about expense. The type of people who drink ale, and the type of people who think that a smoking ban is a good idea. They are the type of people that grass you up for drugs in a club, The type of people who don’t bother moving away from home because “mummy and daddy” pay for everything they want, and the type of people that will call you out for a fight then call the police once you’ve kicked their head in. Basically they are the real scum bags, the real downfall of Britain and the real people with noncey skeletons in their cupboards. I’ve narrowed down the start of this hatred to when I was at school. It was a Jesuit ran Catholic, all blokes’ school and its main sport was of course rugby. Now at this particular school if you weren’t particularly academic or didn’t care for school at all (me) you was fucked, and thrown into the classes with the rest of the scum of south London who didn’t care to learn. But if you was in the rugby team, that was your get out of jail free card and your ticket to success at life. This was also not helped by my incredible laziness towards playing sport and having a bunch of Welsh teacher’s as well. I also noticed that every lad in the rugby team was everyone that I hated the most, even though at school I hated pretty much everyone and it is the reason behind my racism and hatred in main stream humanity. I also hate the ship jumpers that all of a sudden became rugby fans when England won the rugby world cup. I remember where I was when that happened. I was on my couch watching Soccer AM which at the time was at its absolute prime. I was turning over during add breaks to see how England was getting on, obviously no matter what sport it is, as long as the Aussie’s lose it’s a good result. I remember I turned over during one break and Johnny Wilkinson kicked the “ball” through the 2 sticks and got the 2 or 3 points or whatever it is you get for kicking it over the H. I simply turned to my dad and said “England have won the world cup” he replied with “o really” then I turned it straight back again. The next day to my surprise it was on the front page of every newspaper and all my mates were talking about it. Now I’m not asking for the sport of rugby to be banished and for all it followers to be sent to camps and experimented on and gassed…although I would have no objection to it. Just for these people to be singled out for the imbeciles that they are, and for their stupid sport. Through my short journey through life I have learnt to avoid these people but also not tar everyone with the same brush, I have met some quality yuppies and posh people. Mainly at Glastonbury and through places where I’ve worked, but I’ve found recently that when faced with either a life of an upper class lifestyle of having everything I could possible want and be accepted by society…. or a lifestyle of scraping pennies together to go out, achieving great sense of achievements of getting extremely wasted, annoying suited people and causing general havoc then I’d rather the latter really.
Thursday, 26 February 2009
2 good weekends and a horrible relapse.
Hello again sorry for my absence and neglect but I’ve been busy doing nothing. Well that isn’t entirely true I’ve had a few adventures and attended one or two very cool parties, I also admit to a bit of relapse of my marathon vow but for good reason…or at least I like to keep telling myself that.
Anyways since I last spoke to you I’ve been up to quite a bit. I made a return to Bangface which was pretty cool. It was one of the first nights there in a while where I hadn’t seen most of the line up: Drumcorps, Hecate, Krome & Thyme, and my absolute favourite Bong-Ra, and may I just say what a lovely amount of sheer violence and madness there was. Mosh pits all night, careless people leaving there beers for me to finish off, I was even at one point on the stage having a dance, kissing Bong-Ra and doing a bit of crowd surfing. There was even a ketted out bird who I managed to pull. It was a Bangface to remember and since it was also Sarah’s birthday we was guaranteed an after party also. Which itself was not to disappoint. It was a bit like a handful of Bangface’s finest people having a bit of a party, and since Bangface is the place where super friendly people, who know how to party, go to have fun, it was guaranteed to be an absolute winner. I don’t think I stopped laughing the whole time I was there. I did however have a bit of a pro-plus binge and start to be a bit moody and restless but I did manage to get a couple of hours of shut eye. I did however have a bit of a relapse as there was liquid going around and it was free. At first I wasn’t having the best of times. I hadn’t slept properly and was being really anti-social, I attempted at some kip with Lauren but just ended up being entertained by Sarah’s fantastically, trippy bedroom. I then had the greatest visual of my life, the kind where I’d love to have some artistic talent so I could draw it later. Although describing it won’t give it any justice just try and imagine an old school style, bald clown, doing a handstand on a skull, resting apples on his feet and spitting fire into my face with a torch. I pissed myself laughing for a few minutes, then decided to go downstairs and have a bit of a chat with everyone there. Looking back on it I’m really glad I did, as I had a right ol’ laugh with everyone there. By Sunday morning I concluded that was probably one of my best weekends in a long while.
After that fantastic debauched weekend it was half term, and just like every single half term before that where I haven’t had a job, it was a complete waster of time and I got nothing done, except get stoned, play football manager, argue with a bank and watch porn. However it was the weekend again that was to prevail overall. I went to Hidden for Terradisco. A night where several squat party sound systems got together to play a lovely bit of jungle, techno, breakcore and drum and bass, there was also some pretentious “industrial noise” as well but I kept well clear of that. It was pretty good, the highlight of the night was basically Remarc who played a cracking jungle set filled with classics, the fact it was pumping out of the mighty Disjunkt soundsytem was an added bonus. I did the entire night completely sober for once, until that was Pete invited me back to his flat for a bit of an after party, included in the party was Rich and Lee. I think now is a good time to point out that of all the wreckhead’s I have met, Lee, Rich and Pete are probably all in the top five, if not the top 3. So as you can imagine this was going to be my ultimate test. I passed out briefly but I awoke to find that their dealer had turned up and they had just shoved some DXM (Cracker Jack) under my nose. I didn’t see the point of turning back after that so I continued to take whatever they gave me, except however for the Mandy they had going around. I did however get to a chance to smoke DMT. Which to those of you who don’t know, is an incredibly strong hallucinogenic. Imagine all the intensity of a 12 hour acid trip condensed into about 10-15 minutes of wacky, realistic visuals and intensely bright colours. I didn’t get much of a hit out of what was left from the pipe but it did make the picture of the LEGO man on Pete’s wall walk out of the canvas and have a stroll about the room, another notable feature was his bathroom, which was completely white except for what seemed to be an extremely red shower curtain, similar to that of the little girls coat in Schindler’s list.
Despite the 2 horrible relapses over that week, I feel that my marathon training seems to be going pretty well. It is however just over 2 weeks away now, but I do have one slight problem with my knee, over the past few weeks it has been giving me a bit of jip and has only got worse, I should really take it easy a bit but I don’t want to lose my fitness levels, hopefully ill run it out and ill be fine. I will be absolutely devastated if I was to get injured this far into the game.
This weekend has all the making to be a classic, Braindrop on Friday and a possible trip to Bristol on the Saturday for a Wrong Music event; however it could all fall through due the money which I’ve been waiting for a while now probably wont clear and I may have a bit of work at the Carling Cup final on the Sunday but with all my dallying could of lost that as well. Will I make it? Tune in next week to find out.
Whilst on the subject of the birthplace of Skins, most of my readers will know that I think the programme is shit and I haven’t watched the last few series, although just before I thought I should update this blog I watched the most recent episode and I have to say I’m a bit angry that no one informed me that there is a lesbian storyline involving 2 fit jailbait tarts, one is half of two jailbait twins. Even if it is just for the eye candy and possible a few lesbian sex scenes, that could be tossing material and not for the poor story lines, acting, characters and unrealistic situations I may very well be watching a few more from this series. Even Doogle from Father Ted is in it so it can’t be all bad.
Well I think that’s about it really. Like I said before have a read next week to see how my weekend goes, could be a classic, could be an absolute disaster.
Anyway goodbye, god bless and thanks for having a glance.
Anyways since I last spoke to you I’ve been up to quite a bit. I made a return to Bangface which was pretty cool. It was one of the first nights there in a while where I hadn’t seen most of the line up: Drumcorps, Hecate, Krome & Thyme, and my absolute favourite Bong-Ra, and may I just say what a lovely amount of sheer violence and madness there was. Mosh pits all night, careless people leaving there beers for me to finish off, I was even at one point on the stage having a dance, kissing Bong-Ra and doing a bit of crowd surfing. There was even a ketted out bird who I managed to pull. It was a Bangface to remember and since it was also Sarah’s birthday we was guaranteed an after party also. Which itself was not to disappoint. It was a bit like a handful of Bangface’s finest people having a bit of a party, and since Bangface is the place where super friendly people, who know how to party, go to have fun, it was guaranteed to be an absolute winner. I don’t think I stopped laughing the whole time I was there. I did however have a bit of a pro-plus binge and start to be a bit moody and restless but I did manage to get a couple of hours of shut eye. I did however have a bit of a relapse as there was liquid going around and it was free. At first I wasn’t having the best of times. I hadn’t slept properly and was being really anti-social, I attempted at some kip with Lauren but just ended up being entertained by Sarah’s fantastically, trippy bedroom. I then had the greatest visual of my life, the kind where I’d love to have some artistic talent so I could draw it later. Although describing it won’t give it any justice just try and imagine an old school style, bald clown, doing a handstand on a skull, resting apples on his feet and spitting fire into my face with a torch. I pissed myself laughing for a few minutes, then decided to go downstairs and have a bit of a chat with everyone there. Looking back on it I’m really glad I did, as I had a right ol’ laugh with everyone there. By Sunday morning I concluded that was probably one of my best weekends in a long while.
After that fantastic debauched weekend it was half term, and just like every single half term before that where I haven’t had a job, it was a complete waster of time and I got nothing done, except get stoned, play football manager, argue with a bank and watch porn. However it was the weekend again that was to prevail overall. I went to Hidden for Terradisco. A night where several squat party sound systems got together to play a lovely bit of jungle, techno, breakcore and drum and bass, there was also some pretentious “industrial noise” as well but I kept well clear of that. It was pretty good, the highlight of the night was basically Remarc who played a cracking jungle set filled with classics, the fact it was pumping out of the mighty Disjunkt soundsytem was an added bonus. I did the entire night completely sober for once, until that was Pete invited me back to his flat for a bit of an after party, included in the party was Rich and Lee. I think now is a good time to point out that of all the wreckhead’s I have met, Lee, Rich and Pete are probably all in the top five, if not the top 3. So as you can imagine this was going to be my ultimate test. I passed out briefly but I awoke to find that their dealer had turned up and they had just shoved some DXM (Cracker Jack) under my nose. I didn’t see the point of turning back after that so I continued to take whatever they gave me, except however for the Mandy they had going around. I did however get to a chance to smoke DMT. Which to those of you who don’t know, is an incredibly strong hallucinogenic. Imagine all the intensity of a 12 hour acid trip condensed into about 10-15 minutes of wacky, realistic visuals and intensely bright colours. I didn’t get much of a hit out of what was left from the pipe but it did make the picture of the LEGO man on Pete’s wall walk out of the canvas and have a stroll about the room, another notable feature was his bathroom, which was completely white except for what seemed to be an extremely red shower curtain, similar to that of the little girls coat in Schindler’s list.
Despite the 2 horrible relapses over that week, I feel that my marathon training seems to be going pretty well. It is however just over 2 weeks away now, but I do have one slight problem with my knee, over the past few weeks it has been giving me a bit of jip and has only got worse, I should really take it easy a bit but I don’t want to lose my fitness levels, hopefully ill run it out and ill be fine. I will be absolutely devastated if I was to get injured this far into the game.
This weekend has all the making to be a classic, Braindrop on Friday and a possible trip to Bristol on the Saturday for a Wrong Music event; however it could all fall through due the money which I’ve been waiting for a while now probably wont clear and I may have a bit of work at the Carling Cup final on the Sunday but with all my dallying could of lost that as well. Will I make it? Tune in next week to find out.
Whilst on the subject of the birthplace of Skins, most of my readers will know that I think the programme is shit and I haven’t watched the last few series, although just before I thought I should update this blog I watched the most recent episode and I have to say I’m a bit angry that no one informed me that there is a lesbian storyline involving 2 fit jailbait tarts, one is half of two jailbait twins. Even if it is just for the eye candy and possible a few lesbian sex scenes, that could be tossing material and not for the poor story lines, acting, characters and unrealistic situations I may very well be watching a few more from this series. Even Doogle from Father Ted is in it so it can’t be all bad.
Well I think that’s about it really. Like I said before have a read next week to see how my weekend goes, could be a classic, could be an absolute disaster.
Anyway goodbye, god bless and thanks for having a glance.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Day raving and the BAFTA's
Hello again, thanks for those who may have read my last entry. I can understand that many of you may have found it to be tedious, drivel which it probably was, but then again I never said these were going to be exciting, although I hope in my next piece of thought on paper you get something out of it.
Last week was a mix of bollocks and good shit. The bollocks being snowed in for too long and just sitting down not doing anything, although I did read A Clockwork Orange (which by the way is bloody brilliant). I am now also temping as a nanny for a family in Kensington. I got the job by applying online, got an interview and now looking back on it must have been the only applicant they bothered to interview, because not only do I lack anything more then 3 months of experience in childcare, I also have a previous record for being a rascal. But the family are pretty safe and the kids aren’t little terrors, and I pretty much get to do what I do at home but get paid 8 pound an hour to do it, and there’s kids there to keep me entertained as well so it’s all good.
This weekend was pretty safe…On Friday me and Rosa attempted to go to the Rhythm Factory but we indulged in too much smoke and drink before hand and never got through the front door of the club, and in the end I ended up in their living room, making some lovely drunken conversation with Ian. The next day however we went to the Every1Sounds after party/day rave, which I have to say, was a cracking experience. Not only was it weird being all refreshed and sober for an every1sounds do, but also weird seeing all the familiar faces of parties in a club environment. The techno was thumping as usual, and although there was a bit of psy-trance going on, the tunes in general were all on top form. After finishing off a cracking Chris Liberator set, me and Rosa set off to pick up some more ammunition in the form of puff. The rest of my weekend was sat in their flat smoking spiffs and watching some shit TV with the odd little rant by either of us every now and then. It was all proper safe as usual and it was good to hang out with them lot again.
Now its time for a little boring rant of the week, on Sunday I watched the BAFTA awards, where as I expected Slumdog Millionaire took nearly everything, which is cool because it’s one of the best films I’ve seen in a while, and is directed by one of Britain’s most awesome directors, who I wish the very best of success at the up and coming Oscars. However the only shock of the night had to be Noel Clarke winning the rising star award, also in the running was Toby Kebbell (who both my vote and money was on).
Now those of you who know Noel Clarke will know that he wrote and starred in Kidulthood and directed, starred and wrote Adulthood. Both films are bloody awful depictions of youth life in London. Someone gets mugged every 5 minutes, the acting is as poor as a primary school nativity play, there is constant continuity and the film is filled with stereotyped characters, that you would move country to avoid if they were to actually exist. Toby Kebbell on the other hand started his career with a moving and very convincing role in one of the best British thrillers of our generation: Dead Man’s Shoes. He then went on to play Joy Divisions manager in Control and was the Rockstar in the latest Guy Ritchie film, Rock N’ Rolla. Which I haven’t seen yet. It was explained to me that no one would of heard for Kebbell and that’s why no one would vote for him, which is what made me feel the award which has made James Mcavoy a bit of a soon to be acting great, just a bit of a farse. Where as there was very little to gain from the Kidult and Adulthood films, all Noel Clarke can account for is a few appearances in Doctor Who and a full series of Auf Wiedersain Pet. Which I think you’d agree is a fairly average CV for any Actor/filmmaker. I do feel for Toby Kebbell because that award would of made people finally take notice of such a young and talented actor who has all the promise Euwan Mcregor had when he first went running down that street in Trainspotting. It feels like a great injustice for British cinema. However I did have to vote for Noel, because he came into our college once to give a talk and he said that if we voted for him he would come in again and let us hold his award, so I suppose every cloud does have a silver lining.
Not too much else I can think of at the moment that is bothering me, although next weekend looks to be a pretty one, so I will write down all gory details in this here blog. Be good to each other and God bless.
Last week was a mix of bollocks and good shit. The bollocks being snowed in for too long and just sitting down not doing anything, although I did read A Clockwork Orange (which by the way is bloody brilliant). I am now also temping as a nanny for a family in Kensington. I got the job by applying online, got an interview and now looking back on it must have been the only applicant they bothered to interview, because not only do I lack anything more then 3 months of experience in childcare, I also have a previous record for being a rascal. But the family are pretty safe and the kids aren’t little terrors, and I pretty much get to do what I do at home but get paid 8 pound an hour to do it, and there’s kids there to keep me entertained as well so it’s all good.
This weekend was pretty safe…On Friday me and Rosa attempted to go to the Rhythm Factory but we indulged in too much smoke and drink before hand and never got through the front door of the club, and in the end I ended up in their living room, making some lovely drunken conversation with Ian. The next day however we went to the Every1Sounds after party/day rave, which I have to say, was a cracking experience. Not only was it weird being all refreshed and sober for an every1sounds do, but also weird seeing all the familiar faces of parties in a club environment. The techno was thumping as usual, and although there was a bit of psy-trance going on, the tunes in general were all on top form. After finishing off a cracking Chris Liberator set, me and Rosa set off to pick up some more ammunition in the form of puff. The rest of my weekend was sat in their flat smoking spiffs and watching some shit TV with the odd little rant by either of us every now and then. It was all proper safe as usual and it was good to hang out with them lot again.
Now its time for a little boring rant of the week, on Sunday I watched the BAFTA awards, where as I expected Slumdog Millionaire took nearly everything, which is cool because it’s one of the best films I’ve seen in a while, and is directed by one of Britain’s most awesome directors, who I wish the very best of success at the up and coming Oscars. However the only shock of the night had to be Noel Clarke winning the rising star award, also in the running was Toby Kebbell (who both my vote and money was on).
Now those of you who know Noel Clarke will know that he wrote and starred in Kidulthood and directed, starred and wrote Adulthood. Both films are bloody awful depictions of youth life in London. Someone gets mugged every 5 minutes, the acting is as poor as a primary school nativity play, there is constant continuity and the film is filled with stereotyped characters, that you would move country to avoid if they were to actually exist. Toby Kebbell on the other hand started his career with a moving and very convincing role in one of the best British thrillers of our generation: Dead Man’s Shoes. He then went on to play Joy Divisions manager in Control and was the Rockstar in the latest Guy Ritchie film, Rock N’ Rolla. Which I haven’t seen yet. It was explained to me that no one would of heard for Kebbell and that’s why no one would vote for him, which is what made me feel the award which has made James Mcavoy a bit of a soon to be acting great, just a bit of a farse. Where as there was very little to gain from the Kidult and Adulthood films, all Noel Clarke can account for is a few appearances in Doctor Who and a full series of Auf Wiedersain Pet. Which I think you’d agree is a fairly average CV for any Actor/filmmaker. I do feel for Toby Kebbell because that award would of made people finally take notice of such a young and talented actor who has all the promise Euwan Mcregor had when he first went running down that street in Trainspotting. It feels like a great injustice for British cinema. However I did have to vote for Noel, because he came into our college once to give a talk and he said that if we voted for him he would come in again and let us hold his award, so I suppose every cloud does have a silver lining.
Not too much else I can think of at the moment that is bothering me, although next weekend looks to be a pretty one, so I will write down all gory details in this here blog. Be good to each other and God bless.
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
Writing Blog's, Snow and the Super Bowl
I thought it was finally time to clog up web space with my terrible spelling and shocking grammar. Why? Probably because recently in my boredom I’ve wanted somewhere to jot down my ramblings, and thought in the hope that someone will take the time out to read them, and maybe get something out of them, then again maybe not, but it’s always good to write down your thoughts. Jimmi Hendrix had a similar problem. He used to write down tunes on pieces of paper, cig packets, napkins etc, and just collect them up. He just collected loads of unreleased lyrics and music around his house for many years…Then he died and his missus threw them all in the bin. I like to think that one day when I eventually die someone will read this blog just to get my thoughts, and then delete it so my mum won’t read it.
The other night whilst trying to deal with the excitement of the impending snow storm, I had a bit of trouble sleeping, so I thought I would have a gander at the Super Bowl, which was on BBC One. Now those of you who know me will know that I hate pretty much everything American, to point where it would probably be considered racism, but luckily Americans aren’t protected by the unwritten, social racism laws. So watching the Super Bowl was always bound to be an uncomfortable experience for me. I missed the opening ceremony but I was told by a friend it consisted of: jet’s flying over the stadium, a pop star singing the national anthem, fireworks going off like Chinese New Year, and 100,000 grown men and women crying. When I tuned in the “second quarter” had just started and I watched on with an open mind as I tried to understand the rules, but it was impossible as the game kept stopping every 2 minutes… I never worked out why, but I can imagine it was something to do with the ridiculous television advertising rights they have over there. By half time or “the end of the second quarter” as they called it things only got worse, Bruce Springsteen and The E Street band came out to sing a few tunes and more fireworks and over the top performers appeared. It was all too much by this point and I turned off and continued reading my book. But I couldn’t help thinking the difference between the two national sports of America and Great Britain, and how again we have succeeded in being better then that horrible place to the far left of us. Our national sport also called football is the most popular and well known, and supported sports in the entire world, where as America’s “football” is only played in their country alone, so why the world coverage, and over the top ceremony? Our equivalent of the Super Bowl would probably be the FA Cup. The oldest and most famous domestic knock out competition in the entire world, yet our ceremony consists of the players coming out at around 2:50 on a Saturday afternoon in May, being greeted by a member of the royal family, singing the national anthem, and then playing 90 minutes of the best sport in the world. When the match is finished the players walk up the steps where they are presented medals and the trophy, they then celebrate, sip champagne and all get pissed. No Bruce Springsteen, no Jet fighter planes flying over head, no constant delays to have a “message from our sponsor”. Its times when I have thought’s like that when I’m proud to be apart of quaint British culture, and it made me thankful once again that I had won the lottery of life and was born an Englishman.
In other news, this week we had the most snow I had ever seen in my life, so me and Chapman used it as the best opportunity to build a huge penis in the park. I always love how everyone shits themselves with excitement the moment the weather changes from the usual grey and dull to any other extreme. Whether it be 25 degree heat of an inch of snow, people go fucking mental, take days off work, rush over to the local park and their actions get national news coverage. What I did enjoy however was how it was like having a little holiday, I didn’t even bother contemplating going into college and just spent the past few days lounging around playing football manager and ploughing through a few more chapters of A Clockwork Orange.
Well that’s been my thoughts. Watch this space for more pointless rants and crazy adventures.
God Bless
The other night whilst trying to deal with the excitement of the impending snow storm, I had a bit of trouble sleeping, so I thought I would have a gander at the Super Bowl, which was on BBC One. Now those of you who know me will know that I hate pretty much everything American, to point where it would probably be considered racism, but luckily Americans aren’t protected by the unwritten, social racism laws. So watching the Super Bowl was always bound to be an uncomfortable experience for me. I missed the opening ceremony but I was told by a friend it consisted of: jet’s flying over the stadium, a pop star singing the national anthem, fireworks going off like Chinese New Year, and 100,000 grown men and women crying. When I tuned in the “second quarter” had just started and I watched on with an open mind as I tried to understand the rules, but it was impossible as the game kept stopping every 2 minutes… I never worked out why, but I can imagine it was something to do with the ridiculous television advertising rights they have over there. By half time or “the end of the second quarter” as they called it things only got worse, Bruce Springsteen and The E Street band came out to sing a few tunes and more fireworks and over the top performers appeared. It was all too much by this point and I turned off and continued reading my book. But I couldn’t help thinking the difference between the two national sports of America and Great Britain, and how again we have succeeded in being better then that horrible place to the far left of us. Our national sport also called football is the most popular and well known, and supported sports in the entire world, where as America’s “football” is only played in their country alone, so why the world coverage, and over the top ceremony? Our equivalent of the Super Bowl would probably be the FA Cup. The oldest and most famous domestic knock out competition in the entire world, yet our ceremony consists of the players coming out at around 2:50 on a Saturday afternoon in May, being greeted by a member of the royal family, singing the national anthem, and then playing 90 minutes of the best sport in the world. When the match is finished the players walk up the steps where they are presented medals and the trophy, they then celebrate, sip champagne and all get pissed. No Bruce Springsteen, no Jet fighter planes flying over head, no constant delays to have a “message from our sponsor”. Its times when I have thought’s like that when I’m proud to be apart of quaint British culture, and it made me thankful once again that I had won the lottery of life and was born an Englishman.
In other news, this week we had the most snow I had ever seen in my life, so me and Chapman used it as the best opportunity to build a huge penis in the park. I always love how everyone shits themselves with excitement the moment the weather changes from the usual grey and dull to any other extreme. Whether it be 25 degree heat of an inch of snow, people go fucking mental, take days off work, rush over to the local park and their actions get national news coverage. What I did enjoy however was how it was like having a little holiday, I didn’t even bother contemplating going into college and just spent the past few days lounging around playing football manager and ploughing through a few more chapters of A Clockwork Orange.
Well that’s been my thoughts. Watch this space for more pointless rants and crazy adventures.
God Bless
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)