full moon fever

It’s the full moon; I’ve just worked it out, why didn’t I notice this before? Up to, during, but seldom just after, Cunt is at his worst. Last night was no exception when he opened his ‘set’ at 11.00pm with a soundcheck. He actually said ‘one two one two, thank you’. There was no one there. Just him.

I pounded the heel my foot into the floor and it went quiet for about 15 minutes. Then the front door went and something unemployed and disgusting appeared out of the gloom. This creature reckoned it could play the harmonica, which wasn’t the problem; it was Cunt shouting someone’s lyrics tonelessly, tunelessly in the wrong order. Myfwt slept through the din while I seethed in the dark, I was compromised by my desire to go downstairs and slam hard on his door/face or remain impassive so as not to wake her up. I opted for the latter, I’m exhausted, she slept like a doll.

Up until then last night was rather nice, despite the fact I didn’t drink. I made salmon and stir fry with Piqued’s Pepper sauce *winks* and we watched Grand Designs on More4. Downstairs the hairy extension was screaming the place down, I’ve no idea where its mother was or what the fuck was going on, but at some point it went to afford the occurrences mentioned at the beginning of the post, or it died.

We watched Curb Your Enthusiasm in bed, Myfwt reluctant at first, apparently Larry David reminds her of me and this is apparently ‘irritating’, but it was such a beautifully crafted episode she couldn’t resist. The Mr. Jew line nearly killed me; really, you should’ve been there. Actually I’m glad you weren’t or I would’ve been forced to call the authorities.

It’s gorgeous day so far, winter sunlight is always the most sublime because it has that air of serendipity about it, and following my night off I have two days of mild socialising. I’ll probably take Thursday off too in order to prepare my liver for Friday, Gee and I are going to Brixton to see Korn which will probably involve our having to be social and shit.

Despite still being in the month of January I can see the end of it, February isn’t much better but at least it’s a moth closer to the start of the motor sport season, which, for me, means Spring and is imbued with misty, happy recollections of my childhood; TV after Sunday lunch with Murray Walker screaming his head off and my dad complaining at his inability to coherently express factual information about drivers and their cars…

Right, I need to get on, it’s busy here.

This is lovely, great video too…

lazy face

The ride in this morning on the black bitch was incredible, I faced a steel grey sky with a perfect rainbow illuminating the future with brilliant white light bursting from behind. It was like being in an overexposed negative or the squinting eye shielding the Mediterranean sun, in the midst of this the rain and cold were relentless. Monday morning surrealism, I’d rather these things happened at the weekend when I can enjoy it.

My weekend was quite unremarkable in one respect. I didn’t really do anything, but in another it was possibly the most relaxing two days I‘ve had in an age. I always knew Friday was going to be spent in with Myfwt joining me later. What I wasn’t expecting as I was covering my black bitch up after arriving home was Cunt to apologise for his appalling behaviour last week, and sincerely inform me that he’ll keep the noise down before offering me a grubby little hand, which I reluctantly took, of course. I’m sure he’ll forget about his pledge shortly but in the meantime, I have peace and quiet and a crime reference number in my pocket should I have any more wankery.

On Saturday morning Myfwt went off to see her sister whilst I stayed in bed until lunchtime, I made breakfast then accidentally watched all of Diamonds are Forever, which I enjoyed immensely, much to my surprise. The shopping trip on Saturday was a lot more hardcore than usual, I had lots of stupid little bloody things to include among the regular items, but before all that I had to go to Homebase to get some grout for the bathroom sink. Rock and Roll, yeah.

In the evening I hooked up with Frank for a couple of ales in the local, which had a few very drunk Scottish people in it drowning their sorrows at volume. When I got home I made these rather clever little ham pepperoni cheese things with a spring onion sauce which Myfwt helped me eat when she got back.

Sunday was the best day of the lot, a true day of rest, 3 Scrapheap Challenges, 4 Grand Designs –which reminded me to grout the bathroom sink, it took 10 minutes and was beautiful job. I raced out to grab the Sunday papers at 2-ish and spent the entire afternoon lolling around on my tight buns watching TV and reading both broadsheet and tabloid without any shame whatsoever. It was fucking gorgeous, especially when it started to rain and I got one of those. ‘oooh, it’s nice in here and horrid out there’ ones you only get in the winter. I met Frank for a couple of ales in the early evening; it rained hard on my walk to and from the boozer. I cared not a jot as I was correctly attired in waterproofs, which made the walk into the flat even more satisfying.

With my eye on TopGear I made a chicken and mushroom pie with leak and potato, which was fucking stunning. By now I was so laid back I greeted Myfwt when she arrived back home with a ‘Yo’. We had a nightcap and shuffled off to bed. I slept like a log in complete peace, the first Sunday night in months.

I come into work this morning and a co-worker says to me, ‘are you growing a beard?’ I’ve had a full beard now for 3 weeks; it looks fucking superb I hasten to add… I replied, ‘no, I’m not growing a beard’. She looked confused, ‘what’s all the hair on your face, then?’

‘A beard’ I said.

grand tv

Due to my over excitement watching Grand Designs last night, I accidentally drunk too much wine and have a hangover. I’d been preparing myself for my encounter with Kevin McCloud all evening, it was originally shown on Wednesday when I was out on the lash but repeated last night. I knew this. I had everything planned.

The evening begun exceptionally well, the Radio 4 comedy at 6.30, ‘The Ape that got Lucky’ was so funny I couldn’t concentrate on my bath wank. I urge you to listen to it; they’re even funny without using the F word or ‘cunt’. I programmed the rest of the evening around ‘architecture’ following the union of my fat arse and armchair –actually my arse isn’t fat, I’ve a tight pair of buns, girls- after a fucking heap of bloody hot chilli, which was delicious.

It started with a programme on Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin. I’ve always been a fan of medieval architecture and, indeed, it’s revival undertaken by this genius 150 years ago. I love Gothic, indeed, I have tickets for Fields of the Nephilim in May. Beat that so called Goth fans. What was appalling was the way this country has treated one of it’s finest sons, his house in Ramsgate designed and built by the great man himself had until recently been a ruined shithole. This single building was the yardstick for all housing to following; it is the epitome of the English Style yet the very fact his house was allowed to end up in this dreadful state is a prime example of the consume/destroy nature of my fellow cuntrymen. Mercifully the programme followed it’s restoration. Pugin was only 25 when he designed the interior of the House of Lords and by the time he died at 40 he’d built over 100 building of architectural note, but, until fairly recently was consigned to the slagheap of history due to the ego of his collaborator Sir Charles Barry. Boo.

Keeping the whole gothic theme intact Grand Designs featured a softly spoken architect who was converting a virtual ruin into a magnificent castle in Yorkshire. The programme is presented by the sublime Kevin McCloud, who, in my opinion deserves to be blown off my Mary Magdalene prior to ascending to hea’en to be seated on the right hand side of GOD. The project undertaken was immense, and what followed in the next hour and a half was a display of triumph in the face of near impossible adversity, all the while being spurred on by Kev who was fucking gobsmacked at the result. As I was (we have so much in common me and Kev)

Why on earth I love Grand Designs as much as I do is an anathema. Like 99.9% of the people watching it I live in very modest dwellings so why on earth I enjoy watching some bloke settling into a handmade castle with all the fucking trimmings and subsequent fortune is beyond me. I put it down to Kev, if I liked men’s bottoms I’d crawl naked through barbed wire just to lick the vomit off his doorstep.

Throughout the evening I laughed and cried with the victories and mishaps that unfolded before mine eyes, not noticing that my intake of vino was considerably more than what is expected of me on a school night. By the time I hit the hay sometime after midnight I was medically pissed, though cheery. I attempted to read more of Peggy Guggenheim’s biography but the words wouldn’t keep still.

Tonight one of my colleagues is leaving so I’ve been press ganged into after work drinks. Fucking hell.

It’s lovely day though, thank god for dark glasses.