Monday, 31 August 09

08:22
Having to do The Walk of Shame.

Yes, walking to the tube station to go to work on a Bank Holiday is particularly shameful. I really hope no-one sees me.

08:37
For this morning's purposes the Central Line (La Ligne De La Centrale) will be renamed The Train of Shame.

I think I am the only person in the carriage who slept in their own bed last night. Everyone else is wide-eyed.

08:59
Sitting at my desk, on the last day of summer. Ignominious.

"What did you do on the last day of summer 2009?"

"I went out clubbing and ended up having 7-in-a-bed sex in a cheap West End hotel. Well there were actually eight of us but one of the guys passed out. We fucked around him.
I knew one of them properly, two others I hadn't met although we've been friends on Facebook for years.
It was quite hot except one of the guys was on Grindr constantly, trying to get more guys to join us.
In the end this other bloke pitched up - he was quite muscley and really into GBL and bareback but he wore a condom.
So anyway, what did you do?"

"I worked."

12:55
Look...



13:01
The reason I posted that grab is because I actually do have some advice for you.

You see, this site isn't all just self-loathing and random pictures of hot guys in Sainsbury's...

Today's advice is that you should think carefully because surprising people.

I am travelling to Cape Town in 9 days and 7 hours and I phone up my parents to tell them this surprise and my mother goes "what!? Erm, we're going to be..."

And then I phone Andrew to tell him the good news. "Oh. We're going to be away for the weekend of... um. Er..."

And then there's Alex. There is no way that Alex won't be around.
"Guess what?"
"You're going to Zimbabwe? When..." Um.

Now I'm just wondering who else isn't going to be in Cape Town when I am supposed to be there surprising them!

File under: fuck up.

15:20
Of course we all know that Lancashire* boys are built tough.
* = county in England.

So how do you feel about gravy, Lancashire boys and wrestling?

I didn't think that much of it until I realised that, put together it means Lancashire boys wrestling in gravy...

Ohmygod... let's get stuck in there. Like now...

Can you imagine the smell of butch muscle boys and gravy? And check out the chair - they use props too!



16:01
About to get onto the Central Line. I think it's going to be hell. Wish me luck...
#NottingHillCarnivalmadness (urgh!)

16:29
Changing for the Jubilee Line because I want to go to the gym. The Central Line wasn't the nightmare I was expecting...
This can be filed under the most important update on this blog EVAH!

17:03
Gym which is so ground-hog day-ish that you would poke your eyes out with boredom were I to tell you.
(Except for the part where this really hulky, fit muscle-boy asks me spot him and I get quite close to him but have to run away because nature has take over for an instant.)

19:24
I have list of all the things I've wanted to achieve in my life. You've probably read about some them.

For example, I have made a concerted effort to be:
1/ An Olympic swimmer
2/ An underwear model
3/ er...

Of course my ambition is mixed with laziness which means I will probably never achieve anything (note: ricochet self-pity)

Anyway. My new ambition to be a great photographer.

I have taken some interesting snaps in my life actually - I won't bore you with them. Oh okay then...
Just kidding.

Anyway. I've been looking around to see whose style I can rip off use as my inspiration.

So how much do we love the following snaps and don't we so wish that we took them ourselves?

First up, Matthias Vrien took this, part of a spread called Pool service:

It has all the elements; gratuitous male nudity, objectified women and hyperreality.

That's what photos should be about. They should present an image that is completely unattainable. They should be fantasy.

My fascination with women as objects comes from when I was a teen growing up and reading Hustler magazine as a decoy.

The women were presented in a completely unreal sense. They were all perfect and airbrushed to perfection. Particularly photos by Suze Randall.

Anyway, here's another Matthias Vrien picture. It is fabulous, I think...

Of course everyone loves David La Chapelle although I think he's become a little like his photos are in spite of himself...

I mean some of his stuff is the best but also like, yeah homo-erotic David Beckham. Whoopie.

Steven Klein's another one... fabulous women looking beautiful and ridiculously manicured men in hyperreal situations.

Hmm...

Before I become a world famous photographer I think I need a camera.

22:27
So we're all getting in a heated panic over Joel, the gravy wrestler. And well we fucking should...



More of this hot mess tomorrow.

22:37
Sweet dreams...

Actually, there is something important about today.

For the first time since last Wednesday I haven't had a drink. This weekend was pretty tough as I was mostly tanked every night with Friday being the worst because I ended up having a boozy lunch and it extended into Saturday morning.

I was supposed to be at a party on Saturday but didn't go because I was feeling so rough (sorry Ash!)

But as Saturday wore on, Sally and I decided that it was going to the last time that we were able to use our terrace so we cracked open the Pinot Grigio. I carried on until around 3am.

It was mostly because I met friends in the West End on Saturday evening (Freud and then Phoenix Artists Club) where we got shit-faced on G&Ts. We were already blathered from the cocktails at Freud's (Alabama Slammers...)

It really is a vicious mixture - the weather is fabulous (a rarity), the sun terrace is huge and warm and the booze is cold and on tap. Before you know it, you've sunk at least two bottles of a crisp white.

And I dunno about you but I get The Taste. One glass and I'm unstoppable until I pass out.

I don't drink to get drunk. I just drink because it tastes so good and there's nothing nicer than being sociable with a glass (or bottle) of wine.

The problem with society / Britain is that it's anti-social not to drink.

Saturday, 29 August 09

10:52
Do you ever get that feeling like your life is spiralling out of control?

That's the feeling I have right now. I mean, my life is pretty much in control, I guess it's that I am hungover.

And this from last night really upset me...

He was just sat there quietly but he should have been in bed.

His mother was stood about four feet from him going "just get yer fooken arse here and pick us up, you. You're a fookin assol, you know that? Fook."

Update
This day just trailed off into a haze of lunchtime drinking and then heading into Soho for more drinking.
And then getting home and going "I'll just have one more drink before going to bed" and passing out on the couch, only to wake up at 5.27am the next morning.

And while you stumble to be you resolve yourself that this is the last time you're going to do this but deep down you know that you will probably repeat the process in 24 hours' time.

Bad habit. Sux.

Friday, 28 August 09

05:04
Wake up on the couch in the lounge.

This is the worst result.

I hate people who sleep on sofas or who fall asleep wherever they land but this is exactly what I have done.

Falling asleep in the lounge reminds me of my dad who would come home after work, sit down to read the newspaper and promptly fall asleep for a few hours. I was shipped off to bed before I could say hello.

Yesterday became hideous and busy. I ended up boozing it for a friend's birthday. On an empty stomach.

White wine is okay but difficult when you attack it having not had any food.

My eyes are red and I am spitting phlegm from the wine which causes it.

I am sitting on the corner of my bed in my pyjamas. I should have done this when I came home, not sat in front of the TV and then gone; "I'll just stretch out here for a second while I rest my eyes."

Above post summed up in a few words: 5am. Feel crusty. Need bed,

09:02
Urgh. I need food except there is none in the fridge. Sainsbury's it is then.

09:28
Walking back from the Sainsbury's and I have soya milk, rye bread and a Guardian in my bag. I have become the cliche. I am the stereotype.

Oh fuck - and I'm wearing flip-flops too. Thank god they're not bloody leather.

I read the Guardian and I don't even enjoy it. It's like cod liver oil - you only do it because everyone else does, it's habit and it appears to be good.

(Production note: the Guardian is a left-leaning British newspaper that specialises in killing a large number trees to create paper on which to print endless drivel about stuff that appeals to closet Commies, homosexuals and climate-change campaigners.)
This is fair? - ed

11:27
I am interrogating my iTunes library for an experiment. Are there entirely different songs with exactly the same name?

11:29
Well yes, there are...

The Way You Make Me Feel - City Centre (from a Ministry of Sound CD - not the same one as earlier)
The Way You Make Me Feel - Michael Jackson

Walking on Sunshine - Katrina and the Waves
Walking on Sunshine - J.Lo

Magic - Olivia Newton John
Magic - Mike Smiley from the Ghostbusters soundtrack

Freedom - Simply Red
Freedom - George Michael
Freedom - Shiva

Dreaming - Blondie
Dreaming - Ruff Driverz featuring Arrolla

This game is now dull...

23:28
On the 14th of February 1997 the Daily Mail newspaper did something extraordinary. It accused five men of murder and then challenged the men to sue the newspaper for libel. They never did.

I mention the case because I am about to do something similar. I'm not going to accuse anyone of murder but the conduct may be equally deplorable.

I am going to publish a picture of a child.

It is a photo of a boy that I took without permission. The boy is too young to realise what I was doing. I should have asked his mother before taking the picture.

That said, I would have asked her had she not been on the phone.

It's very late at night and I am at the off-licence buying bottled water and soya milk.

There was a commotion, a woman shouting vile language into a phone as her son - wearing a plaster cast for a broken arm - waited patiently by sitting on the newspaper rack.

23:56
I can't stick pictures on the web of kids without protecting them.

I have had a boozer. And I can't find the words to defend myself.

I can't try to be eloquent and I don't know what to say but all I know is that this depressed me intensely...



23:59
Good night, sleep tight.

Thursday, 27 August 09

05:54
Holy Moly!

Thank God, it's more like. This Faustian nightmare* shall be over in around 8 hours.

* = I don't know if having to be at work early is some sort of Faustian nightmare but it sounds good. Bear with me.

06:14
At the Tube station.

06:23
The Jubilee Line, so early in the morning, is packed with an incongruous bunch of people.

Blue-collar immigrant labourers in paint-spattered cheap tracksuits who smell of turpentine, sat next to Paco Rabanne-infused City boys on their way to Canary Wharf clad in Armani suits.

And me, straddling the divide. Primark vest (concealed) and Prada shoes (visible).

07:09
The choice in the canteen at work is pretty lean. Unlike the pork sausages that are oozing under the carvery lights.

07:12
I opt for the vegetarian sausages instead. Two of them end-to-end in a roll and smothered in tomato sauce.

It is food that has as much nutritional value as an Ikea lampshade smothered in custard.

08:29
Oh God.
I've had another one and it tasted even better the second time around.

09:03
There seems to be a concerted attack on my will. No, not the thing you use to fuck over your kids once you're dead (leave it all to the dog).

But instead; on the desk where the teabags live there is a packet of Minstrels, Haribo and a box of biscuits. Like an industrial sized shoe-box of biscuits from Tesco.

10:16
Football. What do you know about it?

I know that it's a game, you support it by being a bit lairy and sometimes you run onto the pitch.

The running onto the pitch thing is bad. And anti-social. And nobody likes a thug. It's so wrong. Hooliganism is arcane. Revolting. Urgh. What thugs. Pigs. Ohmygod that's so hot.

Hampster Monday

05:51
Oh fuck.

06:17
West Hampstead tube station...



06:23
Look at what is on La Ligne De La Centrale... this is the best thing that could happen on a Monday morning...

Arms the size of a 14 year old rugby player's thighs.

Where the hell do these people hide and why is he on the Tube at 6am? Is he doing the walk of shame or is he going to work, a job that requires him to lay railway track with his hands and eat bulldozers?

I. Want. Now.

11:02
Here's some gossip about someone you don't know.

So Anton was at a work party on Saturday and drank so much red wine that he could barely stand up and colleagues had to call a cab to help him home.

But Anton was in no fit state to travel by car and proceeded to vomit all over the cab.

The cab driver stopped to get Anton out but Anton stumbled onto the pavement smashing his face. So Anton is lying in the road paralytic and covered in red wine vomit and blood.

This isn't the kind of service that Addison Lee are accustomed to...

So someone else from work is called to collect Anton who can't stand up and he spends the night on their couch because he can't tell anyone where he lives because he's so drunk.

In the morning he wakes up and asks this colleague "ohmygod - I think I drank too much, I hope I didn't embarrass myself..."

11:17
Whoops!

Well that intern didn't last long. Poor fucker.

We need a new one and facilities management need to get pronto with a wheel-barrow to fetch the old one. Before the mice start to nibble.

Corpses in the office are such a pain to have to constantly step over!

12:03
Enough of all this crass talk. What we need is some fucking culture.

12:48
Ohmygod, this is just what we need...



13:02
Ladies & Gentleman, an occasional series of...
Bobby's Book Club.

(Please note: This differs from the other BBC - Bobby's Broadcasting Club)

Chapter 1
Sapphire is a go-getter, beautiful and drives a cherry-red Mini. She also lives in a penthouse in Brighton which has a lift that goes all the way to the top.

Sapphire's current boyfriend is called Jay and she arrives home to find Jay slouched on the couch. There's some exchange about going jogging on the seafront but Sapphire decides to give Jay a blow-job instead (page 2).

Jay apparently looks like Wentworth Miller, has abs of steel and to reciprocate Sapphire's extraordinary blow-job, Jay does some "mind-blowing oral work" on Sapphire.

Jay is a personal trainer, not a dentist.

(Are you following this? The hero lives in Brighton, drives a Mini and has a personal trainer for a boyfriend who looks like Wentworth Miller, er...)

Anyway. Sapphire decides to ditch Jay for the evening and go for a night out with her girlfriends. The girlfriends are Jasmine, known as Jizz, and Sam - rhymes with man.

Jizz has ultra blonde hair, while Sam has a disastrous love-life and yo yo diets.
(For Jizz and Sam read: future slutty bridesmaid and future ugly bridesmaid. It's clear that, if there's a wedding, one of them will end up giving the best man a blow job against the washing machine. Who it'll be is 50/50)

Anyway, Sapphire, Jizz (it's actually Jazz) and Sam are out drinking vodka tonics.

"Oh, Sapphire, you're such a bitch treating Jay like that..." etc. "Listen, did you see on Facebook about this school reunion - your ex-husband is going to be there...?"

Right - so how much have you been paying attention in the back?

Sapphire's ex-husband. Is he:
1/ a successful estate agent who actually wears good aftershave and an expensive suit
2/ a club owner in Ibiza
3/ a personal trainer who knows Jay and also has abs of steal.

The BBC continues tomorrow...

17:17
After this morning's Incredible Hulk on the Tube this morning, are we going to have a hat-trick on the way home Le Ligne De La Centrale?

Right. I guess that's a no then...

18:21
In the gym with Liam and Liam has decided to play Kieran but that's okay because Kieran's straight and I make a joke that they're just buggering about on the jungle gym (the cross-bars) while me and Chris are doing the big boy stuff on the bench-press.
Secretly I know that they would both rather play heavy-weight heavy-weight with Chris and me but instead they chose to play skippy-skippy with each other.

18:29
Do you know that I find the bench-press the most scary of all the exercises in the gym?

I remember once seeing someone at the then Health & Racquet Club in Claremont (when it was still in Cavendish Square)* doing benches and for some reason he lost control of the bar and the weight fell forward landing across on his chest.

Ohgod. I can't think about it. I'll never forget seeing it. And he couldn't scream because his lung collapsed.

(Feel faint again...)

* = please note the intricacy of the details I've provided so that as not to leave you in any doubt as to the extent that the image still sticks with me.

18:51
Liam and I are having protein shake although my post gym glow is brighter than Liam's. Obviously.

We both see him. Tanned within a a nanosecond of skin cancer, juiced to the point where his skin looks like its stretched leather on a snare drum and in an aussieBum tank top with an ethnic tattoo on one shoulder.

"God, that's so hideous."

"He's probably more insecure about the way he looks than just about every other person here."

"There's more to life than making yourself look good for the pictures on your Gaydar profile."

"Fun is more than just post-clubbing bareback group sex with your current boyfriend, his ex and a creme brulee torch."

19:53
"Why don't you ever answer your bloody phone?"
"I was having sex?"
"With who?"
"A man who is not my boyfriend."
"Oh, I'm just in the kitchen grilling chicken."

23:14
It's bed time. 23:14 is my new curfew.
Tomorrow is another day. Obviously.

Sunday, 23 August 2009

??:??
After a long and hellish week the point of this weekend was supposed to be quiet and reflective.

What the fuck...?!

And I even said to Nicky and Liam that I was too exhausted to play with them which was true.

But then it's Saturday morning and my housemate goes "do you fancy a G&T and I go, fuck yeah..." and things go very very rapidly downhill.

So Sally and I are sitting in the sun on our terrace caning it. And indoors the cleaner is vacuuming.

And Sally and I decide we need to paint our nails because we're listening to Tori Amos and we assume that this is how cool indie kids behave in London nowadays. It's all metrosexual, baby...

(I don't think cool cats in London listen to Tori Amos, if I'm honest...)

So the cleaner comes into the kitchen, sees us and says, "oh - I are veeery good at nails."

And one thing very quickly leads to another...

Lying on a sun lounger and gulping down booze while the cleaner paints your nails is so over the line, it's practically in the next field.

I think that's why it's now Sunday morning and I am lying in bed feeling rather anxious.

Or maybe I'm feeling anxious because I know I have to go to Ikea. That's probably why I'm feeling odd.

13:28
I'm in Ikea - the one in Neasden which they like to pretend is actually in Wembley because Wembley's a bit better than Neasden.

I need two pillows, a duvet and the appropriate linen to go with those three items.

I check the Ikea handbook to make a list. Right, that translates as a Nob Glans, a Vul Vå and two Smegmas.

15:31
Are you watching this programme about Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland and Tallulah Bankhead?

I knew that Judes and Marilyn were absolutely around the bend but Tallulah Bankwho? What a winner she was!

She is responsible for such gems as:

“Cocaine isn't habit forming. I should know-I've been using it for years.”

“I've tried several varieties of sex. The conventional position makes me claustrophobic and the others give me a stiff neck or lockjaw."

And then the last words Tallulah ever uttered were "codeine... bourbon..." and then Tallulah died.

And when Tallulah had to have a hysterectomy after contracting gonorrhea, her first words after the operation were "I knew it, it was that fucker Gary Cooper..."

What Would Tallulah Do? WWTD...

16:02
Fitting my new bedding. Ooh it's all white, crispy and new.

16:47



17:23
At gym and running.

...21:?



Nearly time for Monday morning. Why does it arrive so quickly every time?

22:18
Ow. I've just noticed that I've burnt the ends of two of my fingers.

This forms part of the Piece Saturday Together game. I think at some point we must have got the fucking sheesha out.

I remember something made me laugh actually. On normal sheeshas or hookahs, the air valve on the side is called an air valve. But for some bizarre reason, in South Africa it's known as the clutch.

I don't know why this makes me laugh?!

22:36
Excuse me but how am-ma-ma-ma-mazing does this look?

As white as the dress on a virgin's wedding day.

Although the duvet cover is still a little stiff from the shop even though I drowned it in fabric softener.

It may feel like cuddling up with Matzo bread for the first few nights. And the bonus is there's space for two.

Or as Tallulah would say:

“I'll come and make love to you at five o'clock. If I'm late start without me.”

Now shh! I'm going to bed.

Wednesday

Around 2-ish
Roll-over, awake.

Around 3-ish
Roll-around and wake up.

Around 4-ish
Roll-mop, awake.

Around 5-ish
Awake.

5:20-ish
Awake.

5:thingy-ish
Awake.

06:00
Alarm goes.

06:01
Suddenly feel utterly exhausted. Could turn and fall asleep in an instant. What the fuck is that all about!?

06:20
Recipe for trying to stay awake having only had a few hours sleep:

1 x Maximuscle Thermobol
1 x Berocca
1 x sugar free Red Bull
1 x USM protein shake with Alpro soya milk light.

06:20
This recipe seems to be working because I have made it to the tube station and I am still awake.
When I feel a crash coming in, I have sachets of Black Powder.

Sounds fierce and that's because it is. It's like having a nuclear charge forced up your bum. It's this stuff...

08:20
A peanut butter and sesame bagel should do the trick.

08:22
Oh, that's sort of hit the spot. That and another sugar-free Red Bull.

09:51
It's a blur.

Everything I long to do, no matter when or where or who. Has one thing in common, too...
It's a blur.

(Or something...)

11:56
Another Red Bull.

13:02
Bobby's Cultural Observations
(Part of a series, non-recurring)

English people* when it's 32C: Urgh! It's like a bloody heatwave - it's too hot really.
English people when it's raining in the middle of summer: Where's the bloody heatwave we were promised?
English people when it snows in winter: God, this is like living in the bloody Arctic
English people when it doesn't rain for four days: It's a bloody drought.
English people when it rains solidly for three hours: Get the sand-bags I'm concerned about flash-flooding.

(* = as in native to the British Isles, not people who speak English but come from the colonies. The ones who come from the colonies don't just moan about the weather, they moan about everything.

"In (delete as applicable) Australia / Canada / South Africa / New Zealand that's a lot bigger." "Yes, in Australia / Canada / South Africa / New Zealand we've done it slightly better."
"In Australia / Canada / South Africa / New Zealand it's like yours but a bit more exciting." "In Australia / Canada / South Africa / New Zealand ours work, even in the rain."

13:11
What do you call a South African in a suit?

The accused.

I was going to try and find you some other South African jokes but typing "joke + South Africa" into Google produces stuff that should have been tossed into the dustbin of history long ago.

15:31
In Westfield.

So let's not go there...


Er...


22:22
I am trying to type but my eyes are like cast iron shutters.

My sense of humour: gone
My motivation: gone

That hamster on the wheel feeling is back. That's the feeling I really hate.

1/ Make lunch
2/ Re-pack gym bag
3/ Empty dishwasher
4/ Oh...

I can't think about it.

Please excuse me. Tomorrow we'll have naked can-can girls and a man who can lift weights with his penis*.

* = both subject to availability.

Tuesdreg

09:10
Urgh. Wake up.
What a parlous state of affairs this whole 'living day to day' thing is.

10:10
Lounging around in my pyjamas.

11:21
God, there are some real beauties on Trisha* this morning.
(* = trashy talkshow goodness)

11:22
Cindy, who has tattoo of a marijuana leaf on her shoulder, says that Wayne is not the kind of man she is after.

Wayne drinks too much and Cindy and Wayne can't have children because Wayne has a history of beating up people. Although Wayne did find a naked man under the bed. Cindy says it was her cousin's friend who was fixing the plumbing.

12:31
It's very early but I decide to take some cushions out onto the sun terrace to soak up some rays.
(Commonly known as a pre-lunch snooze)

14:31
Murder, She... you know the drill!

16:20
Wander around house like oooh.. Aaah? Huh?!

18:10
Gym. The usual.

"Well, yes I was using that bench but how were you supposed to know?

"I mean, my towel is draped over it, my water bottle - with my name on the side - is plonked within an inch of it and I have pissed all over it. But that obviously escape you completely.

"So go ahead. Use the fucking equipment I was using. Wanker."

19:10
Sitting in the Starbucks drinking a mucho macho skinny latte.

As the world goes by, KD Lang* is singing.
(* = I refuse to indulge in this silly proper noun non-capitalisation plague that sees her name written as kd lang.)

It's so tedious to do this but if you want a version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" that absolutely knocks Alexandra Burke into the distant shade then This. Is. It...

It relegates Alexandra Burke (won X-Factor by singing the song) because KD sings it from the bottom of her heart.
Wow. Amazing. Powerful. Pitch perfect. Soulful. Beautiful. Tender. Strong.

Here:

19:27
Making dinner which is usually a dull affair except I have cracked open a good ol' bottle of Boschendal. The (OTT) Boschendal back-story gets a regurgitation here.

19:29
So I am chopping vegetables, grilling bits of meat and washing salad while listening to the "Warblers" playlist that I have compiled.

You want it? You got it...

Warblers Playlist:
Lucie Silvas: The Game Is Won
Barbra Streisand: Woman in Love
Robin Beck: The First Time
(Ohmygod - the most amazing song to listen to, to pretend you're in love with someone. Of course you know it so well, it was originally made famous because of this.)
Celine Dion: Let's Talk About Love
Beyoncé: Listen

19:46
The problem is that, despite all these great artists, Babs is trumping them all. I am listening to "Woman In Love" so loudly that I think that the whole of West Hampstead is shuddering their lower jaws along to the words.

20:01
I am trying to have dinner alfresco but the fucking wasps or buzzy things are doing a very good job of making the Outdoor Dinner Experience as hideous as possible.

Let that be a lesson to all of your fucken mates who're about to invade my periphery. You will die...



20:14
I am having lamb burgers (drained of their oil thanks to Tesco home kitchen towel), salad and radishes in a bowl but fa-fuks-sake.

Not the flies this time... Have I told you about the neighbours?

This is them...

Elderly man from India married British woman.
Wife died, leaving man to live with two daughters.
One daughter has three children all of whom live at same address.
Other daughter is bonking the limousine driver who lives with his wife down the road.
One of the three kids from first daughter has Tourettes which means she barks.

Trying to sit and enjoy dinner with Barbra Streisand but I can hear the neighbour's daughter yapping like a Jack Russell.

Urban fucking living. Invaded by wasps, eating processed meat as the teenager next door barks like a St Bernard on heat at Crufts.

21:41
Yes Mr Torrance. Please tell Delbert Grady that I will have top up of red wine. A big fucking barrel of a top up.

22:14
If I were to ask you, would you like to come and stay with me for a few weeks at a rural hotel in the middle of nowhere. I mean, "The Shining" is a horror film but it could actually be beautifully romantic, don't you think?

Except of course for the murdering and the bloods that cascades from the lifts.

23:10
I need bed.

(Oh by the way, it was statement 2. The other two have about a 10% element of reality in them, but they're not real.)

Mondregs

09:01
Right.
Roll over and go back to bed. This is Monday afterall, I mean for god's sake, what the hell are you supposed to do?!

09:23
Putting my tog bag down in the gym. Ready for a big fat session. Cor, get in there!

09:27
Oh this is quite annoying. I am using a new iPod Shuffle that I loaded with songs last night and it seems I've sorted them by song name instead of album.

09:28
This is really annoying because on an iPod of ready-mixed Hed Kandi music it means that while running you have... "and if it wasn't for the music, I don't know what I'd do do do.... last night DJ saved my" - "Heartbreak make a dancer dancer dancer..."

Music that jumps around really screws with the gym karma. And so is the guy I notice who isn't wearing the usual baggy T-shirt but a vest instead.

Since when the fuck did he get so fucken hot!? Fucker.

11:27
In HSBC bank.

11:51
In NatWest bank. I don't tell NatWest that I'm cavorting with the enemy down the road. Inside my cold heart glints at this treacherous behaviour.
(I think this is a sign that I need to get out more...)

14:15
Okay, shut up. Murder, She Wrote (MSW) is on.

14:21
I always love the beginning of MSW because it's a race to guess who's going to end up being stiffed.

14:36
Why is Jessica Fletcher always right? Howcome they never did an episode where she's like "oh but Sergeant Spencer - er, that couldn't be possible because the murderer would have... um. Fuck, my theory is all shit."

14:56
I imagine when the production team used to write MSW, I bet they had a flipchart in the room marked "phrases every episode must have."

For example:

Jessica to the investigating officer every time she accidently finds herself trying to solve a gruesome and heinous murder: "Officer, would you mind if I just had a look around?"

Just before Jessica solves the murder she says to the useless police chief: "but sergeant, aren't you forgetting one thing...?"

In every scene where Jessica confronts the murderer and explains how she knows they're guilty: "you knew about it all along..."

For added impact, if the murder is particularly gruesome - i.e. a family member who did it who's usually a tennis coach called Trey - Jessica will say "you knew about it all along", while squinting and shaking her head in utter disgust.
You go girl!

15:01
And howcome no-one ever suspects Jessica Fletcher of committing murder. She's always there at the bloody time. Yet it's always someone else. Personally, I don't buy it.

15:37
At around this time in the afternoon I always like to have a little snooze. You will excuse me?

16:23
Did you ever do this at school?

So you ask someone maths questions where the answer is 15. Like, 10 plus 5 and 21 minus 6... so that they constantly say 15. After about 15 questions you then ask them to think of a vegetable and they will always say carrot.

Try it on someone - but who knows how it works?!

22:46
There's this programme on the BBC (what a ghastly broadcasting organisation, everyone hates it as much as NatWest - the bank - and you shouldn't watch it). Anyway.
This is a dig at someone...

Put it this way - I watch the BBC so you don't have to. So. There's this show on the BBC where the contestants have to lie to each other and guess which is the truth and yadda yadda.

I'm inspired. Here are three Truefax! about the Cox, you have to decifer which is the fact and which is fiction a lie.

And tonight's theme on The Narcissus Bonanza!* is "The gym".
* = the quesion mark is all-important, style-wise.

Statement 1:
When I first started going to gym, I didn't take it that seriously because I was a total pisshead. So much so, in fact, that once I decided to sit in the jacuzzi with vodka and cranberry juice in my water bottle instead of water.

Statement 2:
When Richard Branson launched Virgin Active gyms in South Africa I was dispatched to go and interview him. The only quiet spot we could find in the gym was the disabled toilet. So I interviewed the Virgin king while he was sat on the toilet and I was sat on the bin in which women throw their womeny stuff.

Statement 3:
Once, while at the gym, I walked into the steam room and there were three guys doing rather steamy things. Things that weren't really meant to happen in a public place. I was so annoyed that I went and reported them and they got kicked out of the gym. I reported them not because I was disgusted but because I was irritated that they hadn't invited me to join in.

So which is true? Only one of them is. I quite like this fun game.

23:11
Fuck. Is that all I did today - went to gym and watched TV?

I rate it 3/10... and there aren't even any pictures. Tomorrow there will be pictures and there will be laughter. Moonlight and music.
And love and romance.
Let's face the music and dance.

Sunday, 16 August 09

01:ish
I go over to the lounge window because there sounds like a bit of a commotion outside.

What the...?!

There are two men pulling a third out of the back of a minicab. Either the third man is dead, in a coma or - ah... He's as drunk as a er... like completely inebriated.

And the other man is... Ah, that's the neighbour. The pervy neighbour who lives two doors down.

The pervy neighbour and I go to the same gym although you wouldn't know that the pervy neighbour goes to my gym because the chances of seeing him are unlikely. Unless you hit the showers.

On any given evening from about 6.30pm onwards, the Pervy Neighbour can be found either hanging around the changing room, or soaping up with the shower curtain open.

He knows that I know what he gets up to because I made a point once, while he was within earshot, of saying to Liam (stage-whisper style) something like "yeah, that guy... lives down the road. Is always hanging around in the showers and the sauna, really gross..."

I'm sure he heard because when we walk past each other in the gym or the road, he becomes transfixed with the pavement.

The pervy neighbour is about my age, he's not at all attractive and - it's quite clear what's going on outside.

The minicab has driven off and Pervy Neighbour is sitting on the pavement trying to keep the pissed guy from falling over.

Somebody has got a little too drunk in a bar and Pervy Neighbour has obviously decided to offer up a space in his bed for the night.

I really want Pervy Neighbour to notice me, standing in the window watching him below, struggling with the drunk guy who's swaying.

I know he'd look me at and know exactly what I was thinking.

01:ishish
They're both sat on the low garden wall, pervy neighbour has both his arms around the drunk guy, trying to stop him from falling forward.

Brilliant! He's fucken noticed me.

He's seen me and he's decided to try and get the drunk guy to stand up so that he can manoeuvre him to the front door.

I love it. Some poor fucker is going to wake up tomorrow morning with a very sore head, naked in some weirdo's bed.

I am standing in the window, curtains open, all the lights on, arms folded. He turns to look up at me about three times.

"Yeah motherfucker, I'm fucking watching you and I know what you're up to!"

I imagine Pervy Neighbour will get the lad inside, strip him bare, drag him to bed and then rub up against the drunk, who would have passed out.

And, with all the lights in the bedroom on, I imagine Pervy Neighbour would try and go down on the drunk. A bit like trying to give a blow-job to a finger on an empty rubber glove.

Urgh! I'm so glad he saw me. Busted. Fucker.

10:31
You probably didn't know this but I absolutely hate NatWest bank.

I am lying in bed contemplating either having a bowl of oats for breakfast or going to the gym but instead I decide to phone NatWest.

This is how I deal with latent aggression bourne from indecisiveness.

"Hullo, can I please check - I know I am going to be charged £28 for going two pounds overdrawn on Friday, can I check what other charges I have incurred overnight please?"

"What?! No other charges besides the £28 - are you sure that's correct?"

"There's no 'it's Sunday so that's a 50 thousand pound charge' or a 'we're just greedy so we'll charge you whatever we want charge?'"

"Oh okay, I don't believe you for one minute but if you're happy saying that..."

"Right, I'll phone again tomorrow to check to see if any other charges have been levied against me."

"Good-bye."

10:36
Eating oats.

13:04
The following conversation happens at the drinks bar in the gym, as it has done about 287 times before...

Me (pointing to the protein shakes in the fridge): Hello, can I have one of those chocolate drinks?
Glum eastern-European lady behind the counter: You mean protein shake?
Me: Yes please.
Lady: What flavour?

21:41
Tonight we're obsessed with suburbia. How amazing are the following pictures?...

From here.

From here.


From here.

From here. And then this one... Perfectly clipped and stiff tress that don't move in the wind and painted gnomes. Suburbia at its darkest...

From here. This house is stunning with the cream front door and charcoal walls...

From here. And finally this house, with the concrete block walls. I must live there...



17:09
I'm reminded that it's Madonna's birthday, thanks to one of the generic music channels on TV that only seems to have the new Black Eyes Peas song and Lady GaGa in their tape library.

I bet she celebrated it by appearing in concert somewhere, thrusting her fanny into the audience and screaming "I wanna hear you goddam motherfuckers."

17:17
What?! Camus it fucking ain't...
"It's a party, it's a celebration - let's get this started, no hesitation."

17:19
I think what the world's missing is a Madonna Song Lyrics Generator Tool...

Some made-up examples:

You put in: I wanna dance to the beat
It spits out: So let me feel the heat

You put in: I'm feeling all your moves
It spits out: Cos we're getting in the groove

You put in: We're gonna get this place on fire
It spits out: As the music takes us higher

It's not difficult! I've made up some examples so that you too can test your creativity:

We're gonna let our bodies rock
Like a prisoner in the _______

Our bodies moving in the night
You see me under the disco _____

You're close to me, it feels a trap
Cos Kabbalah's a load of _____

(I think that's enough 'Guess The Made-up Madonna Lyrics' game...)

19:31
Oh, go on! Let's have one more...

We'll have some fun as the music starts to tease us
And later I'll get knobbed by a guy who's name is _____

20:21
Right, fuck off I'm tidying my bedroom.

21:56
And I can't be bothered with Sunday anymore so I'm going to bed.

Friday?

08:31
Up.

08:41
Heading to gym although I have a feeling this could all end in tears. Metaphorically speaking.

09:12
Running and RuPaul and thumping in my ears. This is a consequence of last night.
The RuPaul + Gomi Ultimix remix of "Looking Good, Feeling Gorgeous" is perfect for running with a chronic hangover.

RuPaul asks "how do I look?" The chorus sing; "you look good."
RuPaul asks "how do I feel?" The chorus sing "you feel good... you're looking good and feeling gorgeous."

09:29
I've managed to run for nearly 30 minutes. I am drenched in sweat which is probably 90% proof.

I really need to stop doing that. Binge drinking I mean.

09:41
There is nothing more sweet and pure than an ice-cold chocolate protein shake. Gimme. Give. Me.

The best cure for hangover is to sweat it out and drink very cold protein shakes. And sugar-free Red Bull too.

Although I think that it probably causes your liver and kidneys to quietly weep.

I have such a terrible relationship with alcohol.

I can go for weeks without a drop and then, like yesterday afternoon, I have one G&T and suddenly it's midnight and I'm sitting on the couch having caned at least seven other G&Ts before getting home and sinking another bottle of Merlot and starting on the Scotch because there's fuck-all else in the house.

You sit and drink it as though there was a bath full of alcohol and you've sank your head beneath the surface to take in as much as possible.

It's odd because ultimately it makes you feel so completely shit the next day. But you can't stop yourself.

"The chief reason for drinking is the desire to behave in a certain way, and to be able to blame it on alcohol."

10:37
I am on the phone to the man from NatWest and we're having a robust conversation because the bank has found it necessary to charge me £28 for going less than £1 overdrawn.

I am using common sense as an argument: "charges are supposed to be a proportionate penalty - this is not."

He is simply reading off a screen... "NatWest details the list of charges on accounts, as published in the terms and conditions when you first opened the account, if you would like, I can send you out a copy of these..."

I stop him.

"Mate, please just stop. Stop.
I cannot listen to you and to this anymore. You know what? You can take that £28 charge you have levied and I hope you choke on it."

(And very quickly you get a sense of what you sound like and it makes you just think, 'I actually don't give a flying fuck what this idiot thinks and if some toss-pot from NatWest thinks I'm a freakshow then I shall wear the badge as a mark of honour'...)

So I start...

"Mate - you can sit there and read the rules off the bank off a screen to me. After this phone conversation I will put the phone down and I will continue with my life - one that is actually pretty good.

"The issue is actually not the money. I earn a lot of money as you can see and £28 means one less meal out for me. It's more a matter of principle.

"After this my life will continue - I will go out later in sit in the sun and listen to music. I will plan holidays to take, parties to go to.

"But you will still be working for NatWest - probably the most despised company in Britain at the moment.

"Imagine how your parents must feel... they brought you into this world - they had hopes for you - they had dreams of what their son could achieve and all you have managed to do in this life is get a job sitting in a warehouse in Bristol, reading off a computer screen on behalf of a bank that nobody likes.

He cuts in; "excuse me Mr Bobby Cox but I don't have to listen to this and I am going to terminate the call."

"No mate. The only reason you want to put the phone down is because we both know that I am right.

"You will end the call and you will sit there all alone - you will look at the pond life that passes for colleagues around you and think "bloody hell, that guy was right - I am a failure. Is sitting in a banking call centre all that I managed to do with my life?"

"I'm sorry but I am going to put the phone down."

"You can put the phone down but you're not going to be able to stop thinking about what I've said."

There is silence. I put a smile in my voice and very calmly say "good-bye now."

Although there is silence I can hear he hasn't put the phone down. But after about 3 seconds the line goes dead.

10:44
I am sure that I got to him. There is a line in the Art of War - a book you should read - that says "exploit the dynamic within, develop it without."

I've worked in a call centre and as much as it can be a laugh, no-one ultimately wants to be reminded that they work in a warehouse having to be nice to people all day.

Fuck him. If he wants to work for a bank that's happy to treat people like shit, then I will reciprocate.

10:46
Sitting on the couch thinking.

All those things I said to that guy at NatWest, I could have said them to myself. And the words would have meant something.

10:51
I get disgusted, appalled, irritated, annoyed and upset with other people.

Why do they not walk fast enough on the pavement?
Why can they not walk in a fucking straight line?
Why do they stop at the top of the fucking escalator?
Why do they run on the treadmill right next to me?
Why do they not fucking respond to my email?
Why do they fucking waste time at the ATM by talking on the phone?
How can they believe everything they read in the fucking newspaper?
Why don't the check-out people in Sainsbury's do it a little quicker?
Why do they ask me if I want a fucking bag when it's quite obvious I need a fucking plastic bag?

Maybe this anger, irritation and frustration I feel is not towards anyone else but instead towards myself?

Is this really all I have managed to achieve with my life?

11:01
Nothing much else happens.

13:25
Nothing at all.

Thursday, 13 August 2009

08:56
Ah for fucks' sake...

So we had a few people around for a shandy because the football was on and of course things got a little silly.

Disclaimer
We had friends around not because the football was on but simply because. It so happened that England were playing Holland in a friendly. And although it was on, no-one was actually watching it.

I glanced at it a few times because I placed a £5 bet that Holland would win. This was based purely on the fact that man-for-man, Holland looked the fitter team. Although I'm not sure about the orange.
ends

Anyway, so... things got silly and I woke up this morning to find this...

...which is a little annoying.

09:51
Oh thank heavens. The stain is out of the cushions after I nimbly put the covers in the washing machine with A LOT of detergent.

Oh listen - Ricky Martin..

We think he's hot, don't we?

And you've just gotta love how, if you do a Google Image for him, the most popular images are of him on the beach in a Speedo with his much better looking friend...

Holy smokes, the friend is hawt.

I think I was thinking about Ricky Martin because David Beckham was on the TV last night.

Have you seen Beckham recently? He has SO uglified himself. I do not know what Tom Cruise sees in him.

Oh come off it - what the hell do you think?! George Clooney, David Beckham, Tom Cruise, John Travolta, Ricky Martin, Ian Thorpe, Mika...

12:32
You can't disturb me because I'm packing the dishwasher.

12:45
If they knew, the neighbours would say "please can you turn down the Freemasons remix of Justice's Phantom Part 2", instead all they must think is "more of that annoying bloody doof doof noise from 134."

13:21
This London jewel heist is nasty but whenever I hear about it, all I think is "ohmygod - K-K-Ken is c-c-coming to k-k-k-kill me..."

14:16
Ssh please! Murder, She Wrote is on. My daily ritual.

14:51
Bloody hell, Jessica Fletcher never says good-bye to anyone.

23:50
WHAT!?

I wrote all this bollocks about being pissed this afternoon and going out for drinks with Jim and and... it's disappeared!

That is very very annoying.

This is a consequence of being a drunk pisshead and drinking in the afternoon.

So. Can we call it quits and let's start another day tomorrow. A normal day with normal things?

Polyfilla!

07:10
Alarm
Elerm
Ilirm
Olorm
Ulurm...

Whatever way you substitute it, it's still ugly.

07:47
In the gym. Gymming. Because that's what you do in the gym. This is going to be a day like any other. A day like any other.

08:29
Please consider what I am sat next on La Ligne De La Centrale...

I don't know how or if this day can get any better. Or worse? It's perfect in every way. Perfection in rugby togs on public transport.

Chunky muscular arms. Beefy well proportioned legs.

Suddenly the day goes awry.

Another chunk monster on the way home...

You're going to have to take my word that this one just as good. Smudged in paint. A builder. A brickie. A hottie.

And then in the Sainsbury's. Another one...

Thumbing through the meat counter. Cor, missus!

And then this, I mean - er...

This guy was just standing in the Tube station staring at the poster of the woman clad in a wet dress. What. The. Fuck!?

Like, what looney ogles other people like that? Wierdo. I mean next, was he going to whip out the camera phone and take photos? No-one can be sure!

Do you want to know what's also disgusting? Look... I ate most of the Haribo...

Do you, like I, get the sense that somehow, this isn't going anywhere?

No, the Haribo all went in my tummy but I mean this day? Today.

It's Tuesday 11 August. I'm sure today means something to somebody. To me, it's just another day.

She calls out to the man on the street. He can see she's been crying. She's got blisters on the soles of her feet. She can't walk but she's trying.
Oh, think twice - cos it's another day for you and me - ahem!

Right.

"Right! Well someone's got to break the ice and it might as well be me, I mean I'm used to be the hostess, it's part of my husband's work and it's always difficult when a group of new friends meet together for the first time so I'm perfectly prepared to start the ball rolling, I mean I have absolutely no idea what we're doing here or what this place is about but I am determined to enjoy myself. I'm very intrigued and oh my! This soup's delicious, isn't it?!"

(I know all the words to the entire film... give me a scene, any scene!)

"Yes I did it. I killed Yvette. I hated her so much, it flamed. Flames on the side of my head, heaving, breath - heaving breathless..."

Listen, I'm spent.

This is not me quoting from some silly script. I really am ... just... too... tired and... I have nothing more to add.

(Tomorrow I''ll get me knickers out for ya as recompence.)

Was that necessary Mrs White?!

23:19
Oh god, lets not get started.

Film under: Pathetic in joke
(Do you know the film?)

Monday, 10 August 09

06:09
Wow. I've just remembered that Nytol gives you fucked up dreams if you take too many of them.

And it leaves you with a mouth that tastes brown. Fuck.

08:12
Second awake and it's Monday fucking morning. What a load of old shit. Note to self: take next Monday off. There are only so many in a month one can endure.

08:24
On the goddam train. And ye I have forsaken La Ligne De La Centrale* plus the Ham & City Line and am travelling on London Overground. Variety and all that...
*= the Central Line.

08:27
It seems it doesn't matter which line you travel on, they're all a fucking pandemonium.

Take this London Overground for example. The train heaves from side to side, thronged with Londoners hanging on, for as many as possible are crammed into the carriage, stuffed in and on their way to work.

Some singing, others chanting. It's a goddam fucking circus masked as public transport. Look...


09:46
Finally we're at Shepherd's Bush and we can get off. The circus continues to the next stop.

09:49
Dash into Waitrose because I need to get some soya milk for my protein shake. This is breakfast.

09:52
The only place I'm able to find, where I can mix up my protein shake is on a table in amongst the posh shops. I get stared at as though I'm mixing up some sort of radioactive device.

09:53
Protein shakes and Prada...

What a pisser.

Westfield is quiet as it always seems to be.

When I'm there: nothing. When other people are there...





Right. In the second / middle picture he's the one on the left. In the bottom picture he's the one third from the back.

Army of stalkers... Ha-ten-shun!

You were so good in identifying Peter, the Abercrombie & Fitch model from Swansea who was born on 9 May and loves the Stereophonics... so what do you know of this new guy? He's our latest crush.

We also spotted him holding the Selfridges banner at London Pride...

So get working. Who is he? Is he kind to animals? Does he smell nice?

(How does he smell? With his nose...)

Er, anyway. E-mail everything you know so we can share - foxycoxy AT me.com or leave a comment. Now.

10:13
Sitting at my desk, working.

Or at least, it would appear that I am working.

12:03
Catching up on stuff and I learn an interesting fact. I shall share it...

Did you know there is a thing called Paris Syndrome? Basically, Japanese tourists have this idealised and romantic view that Paris is beautiful, sophisticated and all French people wear Chanel and act chic.

Of course the reality is anything but. Like all men who work in London don't wear bowler hats.

Anyway, such is a typical Japanese tourist's expectation of Paris that when they arrive and find that the city is actually rather big, crowded and dirty, they go into a state of shock that can lead to them having a breakdown!

Strange. But true. Here and here.

16:02
File under: Jealous, Bitter
People who take photos of themselves like this...

... and them stick them up on Facebook as their profile pictures want shooting, they really do.

16:56
The guy sat behind me is looking at dodgy messageboards because everytime he sees me out of the corner of his eye, he minimises the screen.

I wish I knew what he was looking at...

18:27
Back on La Ligne De La Centrale. Boy-oh-boy... what a fucking carriage of chaos!

I've been at Cape Town buskers market on a Saturday morning where tens of thousands of people surge into the tiniest space possible to try and grab whatever they can. That chaos is nothing when compared to this...

It's a fucking near-riot! Run! For! Cover!

18:40
God, this freaks out me...

People who put their bags on the floor. Do they have any idea how siff* it is down there?

Imagine the soles of tens of thousands of people who've stumped their crap into the same bit of floor. Resting your bag on the floor of the Tube is like resting it in a dustbin.

I actually have difficulty looking at that sort of thing. It's the same as going into a squat in Brixton and splashing your face with water from a toilet that hasn't been flushed for around 5.7 years (leap year included).

* = sif is a South Africa expression meaning "urgh". Like "ohmygod, that's just sif". Or "sif, that's just sif."
I think you can also spell it siff. But not Cif. That's a make of British household cleaner.

19:02
At the gym is Liam who's barely able to fucking contain himself. He's working out with the straight who he loves. It's just wrong.
(Read: Further jealousy)

19:05
"Liam, for god's sake. You're going to poke someone's eye out. Surely you could have worn a tighter pair underneath?"

19:07
"His leg touched my face while he was spotting me."

19:12
"I saw up his shorts."

19:23
"I think you need to go and have a wank."

19:31
Good-bye Liam.

19:45
Did I ever tell you that Liam has a nice bum? Well I am now.

20:01
It's lemming time at the gym which means that wherever I stand, someone will come and stand right next to me.

If you're doing pec flys on the bench, they will come and stand next to you and do fucking stretching or some shit.

Especially the ones who should rather be on a treadmill.

There are certain situations where humans behave like sheep. The gym is one such place.

If you're running on the last treadmill in an empty row, there is always someone who will come and use the one right next to you.
(I know we've crossed this together bridge before.)

The same with escalators, if you're in an airport or on the Underground.

If there are two escalators going up, people will always head to try and use the escalator that is the most busy. Airport check-in desks too. Typical humans will always stand and wait at the desk that has the longest queue.

Humans are sheeps. Lemmings are an accurate portrayal of the human condition. It really annoys me and really intrigues me in equal measure.

Queensway station on the Underground; two lifts going up to street level. People will always gather at the lift where the most people are waiting. It's bizarre.

The same with Covent Garden Tube station which gets overcrowded. There is probably an announcement every 10.2 seconds; "Leicester Square tube station is less busy and a minute walk away - you will be better getting off at Leicester Square."

But despite that, most people will still get off at Covent Garden and everyone else will follow them. For no logical reason, other than thanks to herd mentality.

In supermarkets. People will always stand at the end of the queue that's the longest.

On a train, people will always try and sit in the carriage that is the most full. Take the London to Leeds service.

The first few coaches in Standard are always rammed with people. And the conductor will say "Ladies and Gentleman, there are two empty carriages at the end of the train", but nobody will move even though there are people standing in the aisles.

Perhaps there is an element of "safety in numbers" too...

I can understand in a restaurant, it's nice to be sat with everyone else. No-one wants to sit in the empty corner but getting onto a hot, packed Piccadilly Line train at Green Park?!

At the start of the platform it is always seething with people and the announcement is made; "if you move down to the end of the platform, there is more space."

But a Tannoy is useless because people will hear it but won't listen or move. Once the train arrives they will all try and squeeze into the same carriage.

Some will even miss the train and wait for the next one!

And don't just take my word for it. Stand at the furtherest end of the platform, going westbound on the Piccadilly Line at Green Par. I guarantee you, you will step into an empty carriage.

At the other end of the platform, people will just about be falling onto the tracks because it's so crowded.

I cannot fathom the reasons?! Or maybe I can but they're just too depressing to contemplate.

22:10
I'm going to cook some chicken for tomorrow's lunch. In the oven all together. It's easier to to roast them all at once.

Friday...1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9

Have you noticed that the first four beats of "Filmstar" by Suede match "Caught A Lite Sneeze" by Tori Amos nearly exactly?

One immediately wonders who copied whom?

'Sneeze' was released in 96, 'Filmstar' in '97.

If you want more music trivial weirdness, listen to the last two beats of Vangelis's song Pulstar. Those two odd noises basically form the percussion riff to Christina Aguilera's "Dirrty".

I love this musical shit.

(Backstory: I am tired, I have been working nights and you can fill in where you think which part goes where...)

To unwind, it's around 7pm-ish and I am downloading and listening to music in iTunes.

When I was around 17 I stole my mum's credit card and nicked money from her account. I was caught by my dad and he marched (drove) me down to the ATM to get the money I had nicked from mum, out of my account.

I am not kidding; the song on the radio at the time was Tori Amos's "Cornflake Girl."

This is dinkum true because I've since made peace with my parents about it and told them that, while I was bust and they were threatening to take me to the police station, on the way to the bank there was a song on the car radio going...

This is not really happening...
This is not really happening...
You bet your life it is...
You bet your life...
etc.

My parents like to think I stole money from them because I was going to raves and being crazy and doing wild (heteronormative) things. That's why, in a sense, I think they let me get away with it for so long.

I mean, you'd start to notice if wads of cash started to disappear from your wallet?

The reality was that I was stealing loads from them so that me and this guy from school could afford to hang with each other after class. I was the one who always offered to pay at this milkshake bar*, if he came along too.

* = this isn't some dreamt-up Hannah Montana fantasy, it's true!

He used to think that I came from a mega-wealthy family because I always had fistfuls of moola. The pathetic thing was that it was usually all stolen from Mum and Dad.

And there's the lesson about unrequited love - despite us getting very close, he's now married with a child. I thank Facebook for those two little facts.

Um... Oh god. I'm dredging up more fucking shit. Can I dump it on you tomorrow?

In the last 24 hours I've been asleep for three. I watch the British Airways advert; where families meet - and I burst into tears.

It's called exhaustion. It's called Time To Sleep.

Wednesday, 05 August 09

00:22
While you were sleeping...



01:40


02:14


03:36


04:49


07:34
Get home, turn the phone off and open the doorbell to pull the battery out. No seriously...

12:38
Awake. A five-hour stretch is pretty good...

12:51
Ohmy-good-God-motherfucking-fuck. Fuck. It's Project Runway USA.

This is the best thing that could happen to me during the time when I can't sleep.

Today, Project Goddam Runway (Season Fuck Me) is about - or rather, the designers are creating dresses made out of stuff / the curtains / recycled models.

Tim, the silver-haired fox with and accent as endearing as wet toilet paper thrown against the ceiling, is castigating Vincent for his design which "looks like something, I don't know..."

Meanwhile Jeffrey reckons that everyone else is simply "rural remedial bullshit."

13:21
It's time for the catwalk show. The designers are sat on stools like along the runway like targets at a funfair coconut shy.

Various models parade down the catwalk, some wearing furry things (the house ex-pet?) while another throws a handful of feathers into the air (the house ex-budgie?)

Jeffrey lets out a little squeak as the feathers sink to the ground.

13:33
I decide to live my life more like the contestants of Project Runway USA.

"In this situation, what would the contestants of Project Runway do?"

For example, if you were to open the fridge to find that there was no milk for your tea, you should immediately explode into a panic shouting "oh-my-good-goddamfucking-jesus-this is the biggest disaster since I don't fucking know."

14:16
Ohmygoddamfuckingfuck.
Murder, She Wrote is on. I can't keep up with being a Project Runway contestant and daytime TV just gets even more preposterous.

14:20
My advice? If Jessica Fletcher ever pitches up a party where you're at, leave immediately.

And the poor old woman lives in a small sleepy town called Cabot Cove yet every week someone ends up brutally murdered. What does she do to relax, head to Baghdad?

15:30
Daytime TV starts to become afternoon TV which means it's time for bed.

19:30
Awake again. Fuck. During the week I don't even manage to get 9 hours' sleep. Still though, nights suck.

20:20
Running at the gym.
The song is "Don't Give Hate a Chance" by Jamiroquai, remixed by Freemasons.

Basically I can't listen to anything unless it's remixed by Freemasons.

20:21
This is of course a complete over-exaggeration.

21:38
Jubilee Line.

22:29
Work. And huh?!

What the fuck is this all about and why am I having to endure it...?!





The Russian Prime Minister - is this some sort of Heath Ledger tribute?

"Hey boys, I'm going camping and I'm going to get my kit off and I would love you to photograph me."

22:41
Urgh!

23:39
And the end of another, ridicous and topsy-turvy day.