On the sick, day two
Having a Kurgan day. For those of you who don’t know their Highlander, that’s when you speak like a large Russian brutal barbarian who’s had his throat cut. Puts you in an excellent position to say things like “I have something to say, it’s better to burn out that to fade away” and “happy Halloween ladies”. Of course, if you don’t get the film reference, it’ll mean bugger all to you. Been battering down the fluid in the lungs and the terrorised throat with copious applications of FLoH’s patent throat pain annihilator. And speaking of cuts, that’s a sharp old cocktail shaker I bought yesterday. Shredded my hand while I was washing it earlier. Nice. Oh well, plenty more blood where that came from.
Went into town for essential supplies earlier; got some, couldn’t find others and spent a considerable amount of money on distinctly non essential supplies, dvd’s and books. Retail therapy is good. Being in a somewhat nihilistic frame of mind earlier, my calendar’s page for September now has the words “Worst f*cking month of my life, die September, die” written on it in big blue letters. Well, it’s true, isn’t it. September can f*ck off and die. It’s been a huge wall of shite, followed by an even bigger truckload of shite, mixed in with sulphuric acid and surplus atomic weapons with a cherry to garnish it with. I’m damned if I know what else the hell can go wrong this month, or next month, and frankly at this moment in time I don’t give a toss so I’ll put up my abuse at it and laugh. Right now, I’m a bit cross, but then frankly I’m a bit drunk at this moment in time. Anyway, to digress from the usual bitter rant this page is becoming, more retail therapy required; one of my elderly rellies has snuffed it, so a trip down south is in order to see the old girl off. Been promising myself a new suit for ages, and last month when life was still funky, heard that M&S in Leeds do a tailoring service. Time to pay them a visit.
I’ve come to a conclusion. It’s time for a trip. There’s stuff to be done, spaces on walls to be filled. I could always just go to Ikea and get some renta-art that’s on twenty thousand identical walls, but all that says about my home and I is that I’m susceptible to the same marketing as other guys. I want to buy it abroad, take it myself, make it myself or commission it myself. Either way. There’s travel to do. Miles to eat. New ground to cover. Laws to flout. And it needs to be done very soon.
Having a Kurgan day. For those of you who don’t know their Highlander, that’s when you speak like a large Russian brutal barbarian who’s had his throat cut. Puts you in an excellent position to say things like “I have something to say, it’s better to burn out that to fade away” and “happy Halloween ladies”. Of course, if you don’t get the film reference, it’ll mean bugger all to you. Been battering down the fluid in the lungs and the terrorised throat with copious applications of FLoH’s patent throat pain annihilator. And speaking of cuts, that’s a sharp old cocktail shaker I bought yesterday. Shredded my hand while I was washing it earlier. Nice. Oh well, plenty more blood where that came from.
Went into town for essential supplies earlier; got some, couldn’t find others and spent a considerable amount of money on distinctly non essential supplies, dvd’s and books. Retail therapy is good. Being in a somewhat nihilistic frame of mind earlier, my calendar’s page for September now has the words “Worst f*cking month of my life, die September, die” written on it in big blue letters. Well, it’s true, isn’t it. September can f*ck off and die. It’s been a huge wall of shite, followed by an even bigger truckload of shite, mixed in with sulphuric acid and surplus atomic weapons with a cherry to garnish it with. I’m damned if I know what else the hell can go wrong this month, or next month, and frankly at this moment in time I don’t give a toss so I’ll put up my abuse at it and laugh. Right now, I’m a bit cross, but then frankly I’m a bit drunk at this moment in time. Anyway, to digress from the usual bitter rant this page is becoming, more retail therapy required; one of my elderly rellies has snuffed it, so a trip down south is in order to see the old girl off. Been promising myself a new suit for ages, and last month when life was still funky, heard that M&S in Leeds do a tailoring service. Time to pay them a visit.
I’ve come to a conclusion. It’s time for a trip. There’s stuff to be done, spaces on walls to be filled. I could always just go to Ikea and get some renta-art that’s on twenty thousand identical walls, but all that says about my home and I is that I’m susceptible to the same marketing as other guys. I want to buy it abroad, take it myself, make it myself or commission it myself. Either way. There’s travel to do. Miles to eat. New ground to cover. Laws to flout. And it needs to be done very soon.
posted by Fred the Singing Bandit at 9:32 am
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