eye one

I have to confess that over the last few weeks I’ve been nonchalantly buying lottery tickets with my tabs on a Saturday, you know, ‘20 B&H silver and a lucky dip’ it rolls off the tongue rather easily as you can plainly see.

Once you have a ticket in your possession one can’t help but speculate on what one would do with the cash should one win. Won one. A tenner yesterday, I’m a lottery winner and will spend my fortunes on 40 B&H Silver. The 10 quid win, which is better than a smack in the mouth, follows my first online Lottery play after I became a bit bored at work.

Just knowing you might win is a rather nice, it’s a bit like taking reality LSD in which you find your mind wandering into the possible realms of suddenly being able to buy houses in cash. Despite knowing it’s highly unlikely the mind gently chews the options automatically and occasionally will pervade your afternoon with motorcycle collections, cocktails acquired with a click, huge white condos framed by azure blue… where the fuck is the Marmite?

I’m still waiting for the cops to call to make my statement, they phoned yesterday to make sure I’d gone into the police station to make a report, which I though was rather nice, then a bit odd. Last night I met up with Frank for a pint in the local, jolly nice it was too, no idea which guest ale was on but it was fucking gorgeous. I walked home on the bitter cold enjoying the resistance from my less than a week old leather jacket. As usual I wondered what the situation would be like at home, annoyed at being put into this position and, like winning the lottery, I started imagine what my reaction would be if, when I opened the door, I walked into a pair of suspended piss soaked legs and looked up to discover Cunt with his tongue all hanging out gently swinging from a light fitting by his dressing gown chord. I think I’d have nightmares for weeks actually, so there’s a lesson there, be careful what you wish for…

As in the previous evenings I spent the evening with silence from below. I know it won’t last so being able to fully relax isn’t really possible, besides, traditionally he’s usually fairly quiet at this point in the week, Sunday and Monday are the bad days for some reason. Christ that annoyed me just writing that, another thing, he gets up when I get in from work…. The sooner plod call the better, I reckon he’s headed for a full on freak out.

This is lovely, just pics of my favourite band of all time with one of their most beautiful offings…