stubble knackered

I’m fucking exhausted again.

I spent yesterday in an otherworldly fug, as a soporific automaton, the entire days energy was spent putting up the blog, having online slanging matches with a few tits and then keeping my head upright and blinking at my desk. This is what happens when you’re living over the top of spoilt unemployed caveman with no human contact save the occasional visit by his idiotic dad, presumably to drop off ready meals, cash and teddies, who doesn’t have any fucking regard for anyone outside of his own spiteful cuntish little fucking self he will die he will die.

At 5pm I blasted back home on the Black Bitch ready to confront the little fucknuckle that had woken me three times the previous night. I was so angry, in fact, that I hit over a ton in 30 zone which even by my standards is obscenely stupid.

After getting off my bitch and wrapping her in sweet smelling soft green canvas, I took off my helmet and let myself in. I checked the time just in case I needed to recall it for the police.

I rapped hard on his door. Nothing, then a stirring. Almost a minute later tentative footsteps approached and I heard the latch release. The door opened gingerly, only a few inches, then a bit more, so I could at last see it’s fucking bulbous tool of a head.

“You woke me up” HE said
“You fucking WHAT?!!” I yelled, “Last fucking night YOU woke ME up 3 fucking times, you… you… you played your fucking guitar ALL FUCKING NIGHT…”
I glared at him, the door closed a little. I fought the urge to push my crash helmet into his mouth.
“Well, I get inspired…” He whined like a 5 year old being told off for not making it to the potty in time.
My toes curled in my boots and I shoved my teeth hard into my lip.
“Inspired…?” I hissed the word with genuine malice, this was useless, there was nothing more I could do here, it was like conversing with an outpatient. I made the decision to take this up with the council on the spot “…well, I need to fucking well sleep, no more guitar.” And that was that.

That night all was silent, I watched some TV after meeting Frank in the local for a couple, took a long bath, made a scooby doo type sandwich for supper and watched BBC4. I went off to bed at 11 and read a quarter of an excellent graphic novel recommended by a mate called ‘Fell’ and went off to sleep.

I dreamt about all sorts of things, Alex James and I travelled through the Proms in the Park in a Tram, my mate Jamie was repairing his Mini in my offices at work, Myfwt and I had a row over where or not to resuscitate a pensioner when all of a sudden this dreadful noise started from behind a thin pale blue door. I went over and banged on it, Cunt answered covered in sweat holding a Gibson, glaring at me.

“If I was President, I’d have you killed.” He said

Just as I was diving screaming into his throat I woke up with a start in perfect silence, pitch black darkness. It was 4.18am. It would be another 4 hours before I got back to sleep, 5 minutes after I was due to get up for work. You just can’t win can you.

Piqued may be late tomorrow due to meetings. Finally, just before the clip, I’d like to remember Alan Coren who died last week. Bloody bad show I say.

Great song, great video.