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Friday, April 16

More Tales Of Woe And Of Joy. Or Something Like That.

Yes, I'm still catching up, but I'm working my way through it all, slowly but surely. At least I'm not falling any further behind!

Wednesday, 7th April
I didn't quite finish writing about this day in my last post, so I'll just add a couple of little things before moving on to the rest of the week.

I mentioned that I was in a very bad mood for the majority of the day, and had told Girl as much in a text message in mid-afternoon. I also mentioned that my mood had improved by the evening, due to my Mum apologising and me being able to discuss civily (sp?) exactly what it is I do here on this blog. Thus, when I took my dog for a walk in the evening, I was sufficiently cheery to ring Girl and chat to her for nearly an hour.

It was really satisfying (if that's the right word) to be able to talk to someone else about the argument I'd had with my Mum earlier, rather than just forgetting about it or at least trying to forget about it. I know that I've eventually got round to writing about it here, but that's a little bit delayed in providing a release or a response. It was also the first time I'd properly spoken to Girl in a few days, other than exchanging texts.

We made proper arrangements for her to come over to mine that Friday (neither of us were anywhere near inebriated during this phone call...), and I was full of cheer as I got home.

Thankfully, nothing else happened to get me down that evening, so I was still in a good mood when I went to bed and when I got up the next morning, which was...

Thursday, 8th April
Two good things this day:
The first was going out for lunch with the vast majority of the big group of friends I described in a previous post, the ones I'd pretty much lost touch with. It was so good to see them again, and it was surprising just how easy it was to slip into the old routine and the old roles. I guess people don't change all that much, especially if the friendships between them were as strong as ours were.

I suppose it's now up to me to make a determined effort to stay in contact with them as much as humanly possible. He says... I know for a fact that somehow I'll get distracted or forgetful and not remember to contact them when I really should do. I probably won't even see them that much over the summer because I'm planning to stay in London for the majority of that time. Damn my lack of forward planning and my inherent inability to maintain age-old friendships.

The second good thing was (somewhat inevitably) involving a rather large and lengthy drinking session with my "other" group of friends back in Melksham. Does anyone else think 6.30pm is too early to start a proper drinking session that is going to last until around 2am? I have to say that 6.30 is a little late to be getting started...

Once again I went round to Jy's to crack open the beers, because of his huge TV and empty house. Eventually there were about 10 of us there, and a lot of empty cans lying around. We were all planning to go to Buds, which is the joyously crappy bar / club in the centre of Melksham. Thursdays are the night to be there, because it is rammed, and double vodkas are only £1. Somehow I still manage to spend £20+ every time I go, for reasons that I have yet to fathom.

Back in the day, when we all lived in Melksham and hadn't yet gone to unis across the country, you used to be able to rock up to Buds at 11 and not need to queue. However, we'd heard that this was no longer the case. Apparently, the week before the queue had been huge at 9.30pm. 9 fucking 30?! The place is open until 2 in the morning, and 4 hours is a hell of a long time to spend in one place, drinking ridiculous amounts of vodka.

We of course had to get there at 9.30, since we wanted to miss the lengthy queue and get in there pretty sharpish. Unfortunately, the rest of Melksham had the exact same idea, and by the time we got there, the queue must have been made up of over 150 people. Fuck.

I had to pop to the cashpoint, as did Garby, so we left the others at the back of the (very long) queue and went over the road to the local HSBC. On the way back, we had to walk the length of the queue towards the back, but we spotted a few other guys we knew, a hell of a lot closer to the front than the mates we'd joined the queue with.

It would have been wrong to not push in, believe me.

Me and Garby got into Buds pretty sharpish, whereas the others had to wait outside for at least another half-hour. I like pushing into queues, especially when it's cold outside and cheap vodka inside.

But I'm not an alcoholic, right?

I spent the vast majority of the evening / night chatting to loads of people I hadn't seen in a while, sandwiched between trips to the bar and the seemingly omnipresent shots bar. Why oh why are small random shots so addictive? They need to stop serving "Marines" (Apple Sourz and Advocaat) to me, because I drink far too many of them.

For some unknown reason, I ended up chatting to a friend of mine from school, who I'd known for years and years. She lived in the street next to me, and we walked back towards our area of the town at the end of the night, together with one of her friends. I hadn't spoken to this girl (Hannah) for a good few months, when we had texted a few times, catching up on what was happening with each other's lives.

Hence, it was slightly weird to be sitting in her kitchen at 3am, drinking a cup of tea and chatting about anything and everything with her, her friend, and her sister. I already knew her sister (hell, I even know her mum and dad really well too), so I was able to chat away quite freely. It was cool to chat with them for nearly an hour, catching up on each other's lives as I said. No doubt I drunkenly disgraced myself with some slurred speech and random sentences, but I reckon I passed myself off as somewhat sober.

But then again, I always think I have got away with acting sober when I no doubt was an absolute drunken fool.

We eventually called it a night sometime around 3.30, and I stumbled back the few hundred yards to my house. We'd sort of promised to keep in touch, but have I texted or rang her in the week since that night? Erm, oops.

Ahhh, Thursday nights at Buds, how I have missed thee. Oh, and my friends, I've missed thee too. Obviously. Ahem.

Friday, 9th April
There was nothing "Good" about this Friday, believe me. Well, the Friday morning / afternoon, at any rate. It got much better in the evening.

My head wasn't feeling too bad at all, which was a pleasant surprise. It was my churning, heaving and gurgling stomach that was the problem. I blamed that cup of tea. After a shitload of vodka and Red Bulls, my stomach just wasn't ready to cope with dairy products of any kind. I can't say no to any drink in that state though, alcoholic or not...

I had to pack all my clothes and shit, because I had a train back to London to catch at 2.30 in the afternoon. christ, that was fun, rushing to pack everything, with a slight headache, a dodgy tummy and feeling so very dehydrated.

Nothing could be worse than this, I thought.

I was wrong. I fucking hate fucking train journeys which are fucking packed, fucking hot, and very fucking stuffy. I thought I was going to pass out, I swear.

Thankfully, Dracula kept me going. Not in that he bit me or anything, but the book. It's quite interesting reading that novel, with its diary-style of writing, when you yourself keep a diary of sorts. The style of writing and of explanation is similar to the way in which I write here, although obviously my writing isn't (yet) a multi-million selling world-famous novel which inspired countless other novels, films, plays and TV shows.

To cap it all of, the fucking Tube system was being a git as well. It was also very hot and stuffy, and I wasn't aided by the two big bags that I was carrying. Did I mention that I was very fucking hot, and that it was very fucking stuffy? Well, it fucking well was.

I got to Baker Street station, and went to change lines to get home. Of course, just at that point, the line I was about to change to had a fault on it, and no trains were going anywhere. Joy, deep deep fucking joy. Thankfully, there are two lines from Baker Street to my local Tube station, but going back up 3 escalators and along seemingly endless corridors was not helpful to my already feverish brow. Welcome back to London...

I'll carry on writing up Friday night's events some other time, I'm hot and bothered right now (the sun is streaming in through my window straight onto my face, and I think it's time to go sit up on the roof terrace and soak up some rays).

Got Distracted

Yes, I know that I should have posted something here today, but I was hungover and not in the mood... Not that my life revolves around alcohol or anything. I just happened to be hungover. On a Thursday.

It may interest you, however, to know that I have been spending a fair bit of time over the past couple of days redoing my Music page, updating the seemingly endless list of mp3s that are currently taking up nearly 10GB of space on my computer. I really need an iPod. I should finish it tomorrow, as well as writing something more worthwhile here, and I'll let you know if and when it's available.

Note to self: check compatibility of shiny new camera phone with computer. This could lead to much more frequent updating of the Photo Blog, which has sadly seen a decline in its frequency of updating, due wholly to my total laziness. I even have a hell of a lot of good photos which just need cropping and uploading. Some day...

Wednesday, April 14

Even More Things That Have Happened In The Fairly Recent Past. AKA Catching Up Part 94.

I recall reaching the night of Saturday 3rd April in my last post, so it makes sense to start this post with the events of Sunday 4th April. Mmmm, chronological completeness.

Sunday, 4th April
The day of nationwide fame. Well, the day that the article was published in the Observer, at least. I've said my bit on that article elsewhere, so I'm not going to bother saying any more on that subject. I don't have the exact link to hand, but I seem to remember writing about it on the 5th April, so go have a gander at that week in the archives.

Other than my Mum's face tripping up all day, Sunday was a very uneventful and lazy day. I watched a ridiculous amount of sport on TV (Grand Prix, football, more football, Super League, tennis and probably a lot more) and basically lounged around for a bit. My life is so very, very exciting, you understand?

The highlight for me was discovering a new magazine. Yes, that really was the highlight of the entire day. I was very, very bored in the evening, and I couldn't get onto the computer because someone else was using it, so I popped up the shop to get a random magazine to read. Usually I'd buy something like FHM or Maxim, but for some reason I picked up DVD Review this time. I guess it's because I'd seen so many films in the past 2 months, and I'd expanded my DVD collection by a large amount.

What a great magazine!! It had the unfortunate effect of making me want to buy about 50 DVDs that instant, but it also gave me the idea of signing up to a DVD rental website, which I have subsequently done. It's very cool to get DVDs through the post most days, except for the fact that the first couple that have come through have been the least wanted ones on my list. Never mind.

I also discovered The Royal Tenenbaums on one of the Sky Movie channels later that night, which was very handy. I hadn't seen it before, but I'd heard good things about it. It turns out that it was indeed a very good film, quite funny and so very dark. I'd meant to see it sometime before, but had just never got round to it. You know how it is.

Monday, 5th April
Another fairly quite day, with some posting here, lots of TV and a random phone call from one of my old friends in Melksham, seeing if I wanted to go to the pub with him and another mate of ours for a quiet drink or two that evening.

I know this is making me sound like the alcoholic I claim not to be, but pubs are just social places to meet people and spend a few hours. It just so happens that they sell beer as well. Dammit, I'm really coming across as an alcoholic in denial, aren't I? Meh, it's not true. I hope.

It was cool to see Mark and Rich again, because I hadn't really spoken to them properly for nearly a year, and we used to be the closest of friends. Hell, I've known Rich since we were 4 years old. I have this nagging guilt inside me concerning how I've lost touch with some of my closest friends since I (and they) went to university.

I was part of a group of about 10 or 11 that did absolutely everything together. We all went to school together, and also to the Sixth Form at that school. We were our own little clique, and we had the best of times. But somehow, I lost touch after I moved to London and they went off to their campuses (campi?) elsewhere in the country. I don't think it was deliberate, it just happened that way. I blame myself for not contacting them, but I also remind myself that they haven't contacted me. There is however no ill-feeling between us, as far as I know. We've just drifted apart.

I find this a little hard to understand, considering just how close we were, but I guess people change, grow closer and grow apart. My major sticking point here is that I haven't found a group of friends in London that I feel similarly close to. Of course I have loads of friends (Mr Popular, ahem.) and people who I spend time with, but there isn't quite that group where I feel 100% comfortable ringing any of them up on any day of the week and chatting about this and that for whatever length of time.

There is of course one person who is replacing the entire group all by herself, and I'm sure you can determine just who that is. Hint: She is usually blessed with a capitalised name that isn't an actual name.

Anyway, that was a little piece of confession there, so let's move on quickly and not dwell on the matter for too long. I should really ring those friends at some point.

When I got back home, I was once again flicking through the Sky Movie channels when I noticed that a film called Ghost World was about to start. I'd heard of this film, and it had been a critical success if not exactly a hugely well-known film during its time in cinemas. It was a little indie movie with Scarlett Johansson, Thora Birch and Steve Buscemi in it, and I had been wanting to catch it for a long time.

I'm so very glad that I did sit down and watch it that night, because it was very, very good. It's an incredibly slow-moving story, with long, lingering cinematography throughout. It reminded me somewhat of Salinger's Catcher In The Rye, because it was just a small story about a small series of events in a person's (or in this case two people's) life, with no hinting towards their future(s), and only minor references to their past(s). It's just a small snapshot of a period in their life, with almost no reason to tell the story, but the story is being told nonetheless.

I could of course draw certain analogies with my own writing and story here, but I won't be so blunt, and nor will I be quite so egotistical as to compare my own poor quality srawlings with those of one of the best 20th century American authors in his best piece. If you want to make those connections, please feel free to do so...

Tuesday, 6th April
Has anyone else watched a TV show called "My Wife And Kids", starring Damon Wayans? You probably haven't, because you are intellectual and above all of that sort of thing, but my sister adores it. Unfortunately my being back at home in Melksham has coincided with both her being off school due to the Easter holidays, and also with the TV channel Trouble showing back-to-back episodes of My Wife And Kids all day every day.

My Dad usually comandeers the computer, and my sister somehow manages to gain control of the TV remote, leaving between a rock and a hard place. Do I sit through this excruciating TV programme in the vain hope that at some point there will be a laugh-out-loud moment (or at least a non-predictable joke), or do I go do something very boring such as listen to my CD player and read a book?

Seeing as the latter involves peeling my ass off of the armchair, I inevitably end up watching this stupid show. I swear on this Tuesday I had to sit through at least 4 episodes in a row, with barely a muffled laugh so much as passing my lips throughout. Stupid sit-coms aimed at teenagers, I'm above you now. I have outgrown you and no longer need to watch Saved By The Bell, USA High, and similarly inane American sitcoms filled with beautiful people to feel fulfilled.

Nope, I watch Hollyoaks.

That evening I got a text saying that everyone was invited round a mate's house to watch the Arsenal-Chelsea game that night. I figured we might as well get quite drunk (But I'm not an alcoholic, remember?!), so I popped down to the supermarket with Eddie. We bought beer (obviously), and I also decided to make another batch of vodka jelly, seeing as my last one was quite a success (in that it was very strong...). Unfortunately, it wasn't quite set by the time I left to go to Jy's, so I had to tell yet another mate to stop at my house on his way to Jy's a little later and pick the jelly up. Trivial information, I know, but quite amusing in illustrating the lengths we go to to have a few drinks.

The less said about the game the better, so I'm going to gloss over that one completely.

There was a really big group of people there, including a few mates who I hadn't seen in a little while. This group of friends is a different one from those above; these are my "mates", the drinking buddies who love two things: football and drinking. You can see why we get along so well.

Anyway, numerous beers went down, and it was a good laugh. The fun started a little later, when Powlo caned the majority of the vodka jellies and promptly fell asleep on one of the sofas. I'm talking drunken sleep, which is the deepest sleep ever.

Obviously, being the mischevious little devils that we are, we decided that taking a few chunks of his hair off of his head was a good idea. Cue a pair of scissors and a lot of chortling as huge chunks of Powlo's hair were deftly removed from his head. He ended up with a beauty of a bald patch on his crown, as well as most of one side having been removed (he was lying with his head on its side, meaning we could only trim one side of it...).

Powlo was staying the night there, but the rest of us weren't, so we all left him there, and left Jy to deal with him in the morning. I heard the next day that he had gone mad when he woke up, and gave Jy a right beating. Oh well, it's his own stupid fault for falling asleep after drinking too much!

Mental Note: Never fall asleep in their company ever again.

Oh, I almost forgot, I was on the phone to Girl for over an hour that evening. I'd been speaking to and texting her whilst I'd been at home that week, but this was the first time we'd had a decent length conversation. It probably helped matters that I'd had a couple of drinks, but what made it funny was that she was quite drunk too. Honestly, the things coming out of her mouth, it'd have made anyone blush. Bad Girl. At least it made me feel wanted.

We also made arrangements for her to come over to my place in London on the Friday evening, since we were both going to be back in London that day. I was really missing her, the first time I'd properly missed anyone before, so I looked forward to that day with keen anticipation.

And that about "sums up" Tuesday. This "note form" really isn't working too well, is it? I need to be more selective in my stories that I tell.

Wednesday, 7th April
With regards to the "note form", I won't bother mentioning my trip to the dentist, because I'm sure you wouldn't want to read about it. But, does anyone else find the taste of your own blood a little weird? Not that I've ever tasted anyone else's blood, it has to be said.

The main interesting thing that happened to me that day was the big argument that I had with my Mum about the Observer article, and more specifically this blog. I got back from the dentist, as I said, and was told that we "had to have a talk." There may be some amongst who were reading last summer, and will know that this "talk" actually means I get lectured at by her. Somehow I think "talk" is the wrong word.

She told me that she'd been in tears after reading the article (something I already knew thanks to my sister), because she thought that everyone would think that I was a "saddo" (exact word) who did nothing except pour his heart out to "a machine" all day every day. She told me that it wasn't good to be closed in the manner that I am, and that she always gets things off her chest straight away, rather than letting them fester. Funny, I could have sworn that she read the article on Sunday, has had her face tripping her up for 4 days and is now speaking to me about it on the Wednesday. Is that not, erm, bottling it up somewhat?

I should mention here that my Mum is a complete technophobe (bless her heart), and to her computers are the bane of all existence. They are "a tool" for work, and for doing things like booking flights (which she has done) and buying CDs, etc. They shouldn't be viewed (apparently) as things for entertainment, and certainly not for pouring your heart out into. I, of course, take completely the opposite view. Yes, they are very useful for work purposes, but the Internet contains everything you could ever want to do. It has entertainment value, educational value and a whole lot more besides.

I also tried to explain how I wasn't actually bottling things up and letting them fester, because I was getting them out of my system here. Admittedly, I didn't confront the people that were pissing me off directly some of the time, but at least I wasn't letting them bother me until I literally exploded and went off on one at them. Funnily enough, my Mum, who claims to be an open person) is always "exploding" and having a massive go at us for a series of small things that have built up over the preceding few days and weeks. Hypocrite? Well, I don't like to point out the obvious.

Finally, she told me that if I ever wrote anything denigrating about her or my Dad, they'd quite literally cut me off from them, including refusing to pay my rent on the place I live in at the moment. I was so very tempted to tell them to go read the posts I wrote in the summer of last year, when I went through a series of really bad times with them, but I managed to bite my tongue. She was already pissed off, and I could do without any more angst / repurcussions.

I don't think they read this at the moment, but so be it if they do. I'm sure I'll here within minutes of them reading this post with an angry phone call. Meh.

I spent the majority of the rest of the day in my room, reading Dracula (amazing book!) and listening to the few CDs I'd brought home with me on my headphones, since I didn't have a hi-fi which I could turn up really loud and piss my Mum off even more.

Girl texted me during the day, and I sent a message back saying that I was in a really bad mood, and not inclined to speak to anyone at that point in time. I don't think she minded too much, since I rang her later on that day (see below).

My Mum eventually came and spoke to me, apologising to a qualified extent. This conversation was a lot more civil, and I was able to explain calmly just what it is I do here. I compared myself to the millions of people who have kept written diaries since ages past, and asked if she saw what they did as wrong. Just because I happen to write it on "a machine", how is it any different? Agreed, it's different because it's in public, and anyone can read it, but it's not that much different. I only know a couple of people who read what I write here, the rest of you are anonymous to me.

Fine, if I provide you with an opportunity for Schadenfreude (thankyou, Okay...sorted), that's great. A five-minute fad, with "no take-away value", I don't mind that. I really don't write for my readers in the majority of cases. I write for me, it's (as I have said a thousand times before) like therapy for me, but a whole lot cheaper. I have my ups, I have my downs, you read about them. Empathise if you want, "identify with [my] experiences", read it however you want. I'm really not that fussed how you take what I write here.

Anyway, I'm a little bored of writing now, and I'm hungry, so that will be that for today. Until later, possibly, when I'll probably end up writing here again.

And hey, I'm only 7 days behind now! Bo.

Oh, and Kiwi, ever heard that theory that all-out macho behaviour is in fact a cover for a denial of homosexuality. Just a thought for you to "take-away".

PS. Do you look good in pink spandex, Kiwi? Just a thought to keep me warm on my long, lonely, "poof" nights...

Monday, April 12

The Epic Post That Will Finally Catch Up On Everything That Has Happened In The Last Two Weeks. Supposedly.

I am indeed two weeks behind in my writing here, which I am ashamed about and intend to rectify right now. I seem to have not found or made the time to write here, for whatever reason. But, if we do not take time, how can we ever make time? You need to read that last sentence out loud, in a comically French accent, a la the Merovingian in Matrix Reloaded. Itíll have much more of an effect that way.

I really don't want to bore my readers though, so I've decided to write pretty much in note form, except for the interesting bits. However, no doubt I will head off at tangents all over the place and end up writing yet another truly epic post! Apologies in advance if it ends up being 5000+ words...

Tuesday, 30th March (Yes, I'm that far behind)
An uneventful day, with a quick photoshoot for the article in The Observer in the afternoon (I kept thinking of Austin Powers and had an urge to shout 'Yeah baby, yeah!' the whole time. It didn't help that the photographer had a fairly comic face), and a boring, long coach journey back to Melksham (my proper home town) in the evening. I somehow managed to fall asleep on the coach, whilst listening to a random CD, which is very strange for me. Usually I'm awake for the whole 3-hour journey, especially if I've got my headphones on.

In a slight aside, I really, really want and need an iPod. Firstly, I want one because they are so cool and much more convenient than my CD player that I usually carry around with me. Although my CD player is a very good one, and has amazing sound quality and battery life, it's too big for the pockets of all of my trousers except one or two. An iPod would fit snugly into any of my pockets.

I need one because I'm going to Germany for a year in September, and I don't particularly want to cart over a vast amount of CDs as well as my stereo. If I had an iPod, I'd take a laptop (which I should be getting over the summer) with all of my mp3s on, including my entire CD collection ripped onto the hard drive, and my iPod, which would also have my entire music collection and the 1500+ mp3s which are currently sitting in my computer's hard drive. How much easier would that be?! I'd probably buy a little subwoofer and satellites set to compliment the laptop, because no doubt the sound quality from that would be nowhere near as good as my stereo at the moment. Anyway, that's the plan, and I reckon I can convince my parents that a £300 iPod would be a sound investment. Well, it might take a little bit of sucking up, but they can call it an early 21st birthday present.

When I got home that evening, my parents and sister were out at the cinema for her birthday, so I only saw them for about an hour that night. But I rediscovered Sky Digital. (Excited Californian teenage girl voice) Ohmigod, just how amazing is Sky Digital? It's got like totally loads of channels and always has something on and is great and just so totally cool.

Actually, that voice isn't far off my usual typing style. Bah!

That's not bad for "note form" for just one day... Umm, yeah. Only another 12 to work through!!!

Wednesday, 31st March
Again, I only saw my parents very, very briefly on the Wednesday, because I went to Cardiff for the day with a mate of mine to get oh-so-very-drunk. Well, I'd finished classes, so it was time to cut loose somewhat.

He goes to uni and lives there, but was back home in Melksham on the Tuesday before going back to Cardiff on the Wednesday. I got the train with him, and it was at 1.30 in the afternoon that we cracked open the first Stella of the day, within minutes of getting on the train. The first of Christ-knows how many...

We went back to his place, picked up a couple of crates of bottles and set about with the, erm, drinking. We also made a quick lot of vodka jelly, which was so very strong. Not quite undrinkable, but pretty close. A load of his mates came round in the afternoon, and there were some pretty rowdy drinking games taking place.

By the time we left his house at about 7 to go to a pub to watch the England game, I (along with most others) was quite worse for wear. I couldn't see the screen properly at the pub, let's put it that way. We met a few other of our mates from Melksham who also study in Cardiff now, and went to some random club / bar thing until a ridiculously late hour.

Is it just me, or are 18 year olds looking a lot younger than when I was 18? They look not a day over 16, I swear! Or is just me getting older? Meh.

Thursday, 1st April
I woke up in my mate's house on their sofa, quite cold and very hungover. It was one of those hangovers where you swear that you're never going to drink again, the kind where you don't want to do anything for about 456 hours, let alone try to live a normal life.

Luckily, I wasn't the only one feeling that bad. We all looked like shit. A few of us headed out to a pub (not to drink...) to get something to eat, and it was very, very funny to see all of us moping around and looking very sorry for ourselves after the self-inflicted drunkenness of the night before. A greasy Full English breakfast was called for, and duly delivered. The best hangover cure in existence, I swear. Mmmm, grease.

I made my way to the train station shortly after, and got back home sometime around 6 in the evening, still feeling a little bit iffy, but without the dull, pounding headache that had been accompanying me for most of the day.

It was only myself and my Dad at home, so I managed to convince him that Zoolander was worth watching. It was on one of the Sky Movie channels, and there was absolutely fuck-all else on. Little did I know at the time that it was to be my first of 4 (yes 4) films that evening.

It was followed by the Ali G movie, which I hadn't seen before (quite funny in places), and then I managed to sit through the second half of Bend It Like Beckham. Like I said, it was an otherwise dire night for TV, even on Sky! I quite like Bend It, it's a half-decent film and worth watching as I hadn't seen it for a fair while.

The last film I saw that night was this random horror film called Clive Barker's Saint Sinner. The description of it sounded promising, but the whole way through I kept waiting for the film to become, well, good. Unfortunately it failed to do so, but I still sat through it anyway. Meh, a lesson learned (i.e. unless a horror film is generally held to be amazing, it will be pure shite. There doesn't seem to be a mediocre middle-ground for the horror genre: it's a fantastic film or a crap one. Except possibly zombie films, which are so bad they're good. They deserve their own genre though!).

This "note form" isn't really going too well, is it? It could very well be that this is going to be epic. Bored yet? Try ExplodingCigar for a brief respite from my life...

Friday, 2nd April
Another crap, boring day. I went with my parents to walk our dog at this big hill near to where my house back in Melksham, and chatted with them for ages about everything, including plans for moving out to Germany, and the possibility of getting me a laptop. I also raised the subject of an iPod, to a fairly lacklustre response. Meh, they'll come round to the idea.

The rest of the day was, as I said, a washout, apart from watching Matrix Reloaded on the shiny new DVD player which my parents have recently bought. They've reluctantly entered the digital age, albeit slightly qualified by the fact that their DVD player still has a VHS player as well. I would have gone the whole hog and bought a DVD player with a hard drive, and also possibly a DVD-burning capability. But then, I am oh-so technically-savvy and in touch with the latest technological developments. Ahem.

Saturday, 3rd April
Saturday was looking pretty shitty until the evening, what with Arsenal losing to the Cunting Scum (aka Man Utd) at midday, and then none of my horses coming in in the Grand National, losing me £30 of my hard-earned overdraft. This is why I never gamble!

Thankfully, the evening was a hell of a lot better. Once again, it was fuelled by alcohol, but then what kind of good night isn't?! Well, at least for me, alcohol usually leads to a hell of a night out, especially when I'm out with all of the mates who I live near in my home town. It tends to get a little messy...

Once again, it was a somewhat early start, around 8 in the evening at the Pilot, our local pub. The Stella Train was on time, and we boarded it straight away. I'm not 100% sure if we ever got off of it for the rest of the night, to be honest. It all gets a little hazy in the latter parts of the night and into Sunday morning. I blame the alcohol...

We had a few games of pool in the Pilot, along with a few pints, and then hopped into a taxi to go into the town centre (as glorious a place as you could imagine in this mortal realm. Or not, as the case may be). Buds was the destination, not that we had a huge variety of late-night places to choose from. The joys of living in a small rural town!

Suffice it to say that I drank a fairly large amount of alcohol, or so my head told me the next morning. I remember getting a lift home with a couple of mates from the ex-girlfriend of one of our other mates, which was a little weird. At least it saved us from the epic walk home. Well, when I say epic, it's really only 20 minutes sober, but it always goes on forever at 3am, especially when it's cold and nasty out.

I stood chatting to Sketch for nearly an hour when we got out of the car, about anything and everything. He's a good mate, but I hadn't seen him for a good 3-4 months, so we somehow decided that 3am at the entrance to my street was a good time and place to catch up. We exchanged stories about our times at uni (he's down at Bournemouth), and our plans for the next year and beyond. He's down in London for a few days sometime soon, so I might go meet him or even offer him a place to crash if he needs it.

I've written enough for the time being, nearly a week's worth. I'm now only 8 days behind in my posting here, which is better than usual! I promise to get the rest done pretty soon, although my promises to this blog and to myself always seem to get broken by the distractions around me, such as the "four pursuits of undergraduate life: alcohol, music, work and women."

I will also put some pictures up, because I keep on forgetting to do so. Damn my lack of a memory and inclination to post here. Damn me indeed. Grr.
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