Category Archives: blood

boils up

I have a fucking massive boil behind my right ear, in exactly the same place on the other ear another is developing. I’ve no idea what the source of these 2 cunts is/are but I’m not happy. Swinging back to the first ear briefly, I’m fucking deaf in it, 100% silence. Bollocks.

The office is like a morgue, I’m finishing off a fucking project and my ‘team’ for want of a better word are rummaging around in their unwashed beds, flailing in the bathroom or pushing cardboard cereals down their guts. The fuckers should be here; one of them may get a smack. The bloke behind me has this habit at talking me when I’m working (writing this) usually to bitch about someone in the office. If he’s not bitching he’ll prequel an attack of conversation by laughing falsely in the futile hope that I’ll turn round all bright eyed and say, ‘hey, what’s so funny?! Instead I mash my fists into the desk and grinding my teeth into themselves, for his sake.

I had a lovely evening last night; I got home following an exhausting but rewarding cycle and had a shower. I’m then sorry to say I immediately played Tomb Raider as I was stuck, and I wanted to unstick myself before Myfwt arrived. She bounced in at 7 on the dot and I poured us a pair of G & T’s, darling. We sort of resumed the conversation that I’d ballsed up last time, either way it was a perfect combination of hilariousness twinged with life affirming seriousness and lasted for a good while before Big Brother took over, sort of, once she gets going that one there’s no stopping her. I rather like that though.

The side effect of all this yakking was that dinner consisted of smoked salmon on toast and a side of cucumber in mayo, Dijion and dill, delicious but not substantial really, plus I’d opened a bottle of wine (as per self-imposed rules) and it was slipping down a treat. Myfwt was also drinking well, in addition to 3 G & T’s she was also indulging in the wine, in fact, I worked out that over the course of the evening I’d had one G & T and ¾ of a bottle of wine (enough but by my standards fuck all, though these days I feel it more) and she’d stuck half a bottle on her aperitifs… Before she had a bath she was giggly and delightfully flirtatious… I began to count my chickens…

…after the bath all of her drinks and smoked salmon and toast and cucumber in mayo, Dijion and dill, were flying out of her face into the chod bin. The thing about Myfwt’s is that, being an ex-model, beautiful tall and lithe, is that she commands a perpetual state of grace that even when undertaking the passing of vast geysers of puke, she retains this perfect dignity which is at once both charming and amusing. I watched my chickens roll over and die. She came to bed feeling a little lighter, smiled at me and passed out. I fell asleep shortly after with a heavy dick.

My ‘team’ are slowly arriving at their desks muttering excuses, I’m not being particularly co-operative. Five minutes ago I picked up the phone and accidentally smashed it into my deaf ear, before realising that it doesn’t fucking work but in doing so burst the bubo. A river of pus and blood are trickling down my neck as I type this, a rough paper hand towel has stemmed the flow. I don’t think anyone has noticed…

This time next week I’ll be off to Glastonbury, I need to get this bloody project off before then. I’m under pressure; I don’t like pressure, especially when I’m deaf with blood/pus all over the bloody shop.

I saw this live once, my head nearly fell off. Take drugs before you indulge


trace

I have a hangover from a bottle of wine and one g & t. This indicates to me that the combination of abstinence and not glugging back a bottle after the pub has already reduced my tolerance, which is a good thing I guess.

Actually, I have a headache more than a hangover. And my thumb hurts. This has a lot to do with cutting off a segment of lime and the end of my fucking thumb simultaneously. I bled like I’d been flayed, there was claret all over the fucking place, I utilised 6 plasters, 6!The end of my thumb looks like Ron Jeremy’s helmet after a hard days work.

I did sod all last night, I was exhausted from a combination of a lack of sleep and cycling. I couldn’t even be arsed to cook so I slammed a pair of posh haddock fishcakes in the oven and knocked together some tomato and cucumber in mayo, Dijon and pepper.

I made some notes during House for some scribbling I’m planning, I kept my eye on proceedings though it wasn’t a particularly good one. I’m not sure why I am such a fan of it; it’s a very formulaic American drama, sentimental, pretty and at times beggar’s belief. But it has something, Hugh Laurie is superb and the best of the writing is saved for his character, which I also like. It offers a place for my head to escape. But not last night.

Big Brother 8. Fucking hell, the most annoying person in there so far is Tracy, the incarnation of a nightmare, I can actually imagine waking up and seeing it at the foot of my bed, it standing up slowly, bellowing ‘ows in going’ in that Baritone voice prior to raping me with a strap-on, if it needs one. She moans at the other girls for wearing make up but seems to think her fucking 80’s haircut, labret and tongue piercing are exempt from vanity. She’s got a hair trigger temper and I can see her kicking off at the drop of a roll-up.

There is another reason I think she’s a wanker. Much more personal. When I was in my early 20’s there was somewhat of a mini psychedelic revival, there was this great little club in Deptford called The Crypt which was frequented by me and my little pals. We’d all take lots of speed and ride up there, see some bands have a drink drop some acid take some more speed, and ride back. The Ozric Tentacles were like a house band and just before the place was shut down I was fortunate enough to see The Stone Roses prior to being signed.

The reason the place was shut down was because of cunts like Tracy. All of a sudden there were builders in there hugging you, wide-eyed pilled out turds with whistles and fluorescent clothing, the soaring crunching guitars and rock beats were exchanged by a single booming pulse, Neanderthal noise for Neanderthal’s. So unsubtle and moronic were these twats that they drew the attention of the police and government and all of a sudden bars were being raided, clubs and venues were being shut down, The Crypt being one of them, and the reinforced zero tolerance to drugs, gatherings and parties had a massive negative impact on all of us.

All thanks to Tracy, the fuck.

(Hey have a nice weekend y’all BYEs)