pynmash

A Darren Walker of South Shields has been cleared of obscenity after writing a blog in which he describes the kidnap and murder of Girls Aloud. Isn’t this quite literally a thought crime? He didn’t actually do anything, just made some stuff up.

I’ve not read what he wrote so can’t comment on the quality of his writing nor whether it was tongue-in-cheek or played out as a sexual fantasy. Either way, I’m a little more concerned about people passing on very real images of child abuse than I am about the contents of some Geordie’s head. Thinking it might be an idea for the Obscene Publications Unit to do the same? Maybe? That’s not a waste of time and public money, you see.

I had a glorious weekend, on Friday I hooked up with IC in a boiling hot sarf east landan at a works-related house party, and mucked in. She had been gently boozing since lunchtime with work colleagues and was remarkably stable. Some weren’t as in control of their facilities as she, including one of IC’s bosses who called me racist because I still rate Lewis Hamilton over Jenson Button. As a result I had one of those dreadful moments where I had to swallow my tongue for the sake of diplomacy, the fucking twat.

We stopped by at Dan’s on our way home who was hosting the dying end of a housewarming do and went back to IC’s for some much needed rest. Saturday I was up by lunchtime and we went off to Broadway Market to visit the much-ignored Pie and Mash shop. The place is the same since the turn of last century the owner is the grandson of the original proprietor and is very proud of his establishment, it’s a beautiful place, almost like a living museum. Unique.

I took to Mr. Cooke immediately, he referred to me as ‘young man’ and was keen to tell us of its history whilst lamenting all the people that pop-in to take pics or look around without actually buying anything, despite being very polite to them when they did. There are no knives in Cooke’s, during the second world was some tea-leaf pinched the lot and his dad never bothered replacing them so one eats with a spoon and fork. The food is very plain, simple, but, as long as you season it well, delicious. IC didn’t really take to the parsley liquor and pie-pastry but to my less refined English tongue, it was just what I needed.

After filling our stomach’s (I could barely finish mine) we set off for Piccadilly to see the Tracy Emin exhibition at The White Cube. It’s divided, polarised, some pieces sensational whilst other dour and insipid. The more obscene stuff works particularly well -I always enjoy her childishness- especially the large fabric panels. After a quick injection of culture we bought a heap of sushi, which we took back to my flat to consume with Cava throughout the course of the evening.

At some point IC suggested we play poker as we’ve both recently learnt the rudimentary aspects of the game. It would seem IC has moved on a bit, she took fucking £10 off me in less than an hour… After watching a movie I challenged her to a return match and another fiver flew out of the window. Bugger.

Following breakfast on Sunday we shot over to the folks (for a late fathers day gathering) on the Black Bitch in some of the most humid and oppressive weather I’ve experienced in the UK. Even cutting through the turgid air at 90 mph did nothing to generate anything more than the barest wisp of a breeze and we arrived sweaty and fractious. Despite having eaten we took on a late lunch (mum never said anything about food) and the family spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden watching my niece belt about the place like her little arse was ablaze. She’s now talking a lot and seems very pleased with herself, she’s also much happier with me around which isn’t a bad thing. They always give in at some point. A few hours later and we set off home, the weather slightly more bearable but still way over my comfort zone.

We ate and watched Let the Right One In (which is fucking superb, look, I even swore to demonstrate both a lack of vocabulary and my enthusiasm, right there) at about 9 and initiated proceedings for Monday with a view to bed. I was sat in the lounge when for the kitchen Mary (IC flatmate) erupted in a gale of laughter shortly followed by IC. At some point over the weekend IC had split open the back of her trousers from the top pocket to the back of her knee exposing all of her particularly exquisite arse. Magnifique.

And so it starts.