Went To London

It was a fun weekend, but was covered in metaphoric burnt raisins. These burnt raisins firstly came in the form of me oversleeping (shup! it was 5 am). I must have been in a deeper slumber than the time i saw a Narcoleptic sloth that had drunk 2 glasses of wine and inhaled copius amounts of carbon monoxide. I managed to sleep through a 20 minute fire alarm, my phone alarm and numerous minutes of alex banging on my door (shitting on his own face) and shouting my name. I then had the tired audacity to be ratty.

We set off to get a Coach to London at roughly 5.30. FAIL. (burnt raisin No. 2). We ran round the whole of Southampton at various bus stops and kept getting told that 'Greyhound buses don't come here, try...*insert place about 2 miles away*' The coach eventually went straight passed us and Alex got well ratty and punched a brick wall; it wasn't very clever but he wanted to look hard infront of me and mclean because we are alpha males that are well good at fighting and have uber experience in punching walls... yeh.


Booked another coach for about 10. Got on it. yay. Slept the whole way. Got to Alex's mum's flat. It was pretty much impeccable, but i noticed a flaw - extreme amounts of fluff ander the sofa. I obviously don't care, but i was purely shocked at how much fluff there was. It was like a sea of hairy, linty clouds. McLean enjoyed this.

We had well nice steak and watched time team. We went to a nearby pub, and watched England beat Wales in the six nations. Wales are CRAP. We all fancied the barmaids but they liked me best. Shup, yeh they did, she liked my interest in Kurly Kale and my playful, youthful and exuberant banter. We hit london town but had no idea where to go. Got fairly drunk and went to 'The Old School'. It was a cocktail bar and got ripped of for beer (becks bottle = £3.30). We then got outageous cocktails. Mine cost £6.90, it tasted like vishnus earlobe. it was nice.

Got back and done playfighting a bit with mclean then alex punched me in the rib/stomach area, thus rendering me a gasping woodlouce that had been singed with a lighter.

Went to bed listening to my ipod and mclean jumped on to my bed and scared me. ASS.

Had bacon sandwiches which were peng! Went to Brick Lane at about 1. Mclean shat himself and left. Me and alex had a reet good time, and i bought a Zine by Illustrative artist / Doodler - Blu ( Mclean was with us at this point still as it was before he shat himself and left).

Alex bought a salad for £5. Regreted it. Absolute burnt raisin moment.

2 black geezahs approached me and alex trying to sell CD's of their shit Hip-Hop. We weren't convinced so one started freestyling at us; and i have to say that the style that he was freeing certainly didn't agree with my ears pallette. For example, the lyric he started with was 'Woke up in the morning...' Need i say anymore?

Myself and Alex visited a conceptual fashion exhibit which was free and quite funny. It was situated above a rotting, junk infested little courtyard, which we both found very bizzarre. For one of the instillations we had to do a drawing of what we thought the garment felt like. I did it silly and Christina Tso (the woman whose exhibition it was) done a japanese laughs.

I got a chicken burger meal for 1.99 and alex got a pizza meal for 2.99.

Went back home (cb with details) xxxxxxxxx

The Flat.

Outrageous Acorn Bellend - Bermondsey Street

Hench Poo - London Victoria Coach Station.

It's 2010. Now i've entered a new decade i feel that i should do a little bit more with my rancid mollusc of a life. I want to move up through the ranks of the mollusc world from a poorly maintained Winkle to a well rounded Scallop. Things i want to do in 2010:

• Make and write short films.
• Create a short animation (dat shit is gonna be tough)
• Make a time lapse video.
  
• Read books.
• Create HDR photographs.

This is my aim, although whether I do all this shit and don't act like a recumbant can of opened sweetcorn is a different matter entirely.

Now then. I love food. But what i've come to terms with is the fact i don't really like scotch eggs. I always think i do. I like pork, and i like egg, and i like breadcrumbs, but when brought together it makes me unhappy. Also, i like skittles, but eventually they become well shit. I've found that after about 50 of the fuckers my throat hurts and my tongue feels like i've been licking Ray Mears dried out elbow for a few days.

I started getting world cup fever as soon as it turned 2010. World cup years are always good. Everyone shits themselves with excitement and shit themselves with patriotism and shits themselves with pessimism and optimism, in which case the poo leaves and enters the anus at a rate dependant on how quickly you switch from pessimism and optimism. But firstly, before the world cup, we get treated to The African Cup Of Nations. Actually, its less of a treat and more of an endurance. Watching it is like watching a whole team of Fabian Bhartez, throwing their shoes at the ball and constantly ignoring the offside rule.

Watched Avatar the other day, which is like a totally unrealistic version of the smurfs. It was good but went on so long that i got scurvy in my shin. happy new year people.

I'm starting this section of my blog with yet another thing that gets me ratty. Pritt stick. Fuckin' roles around everywhere. I've never used it without losing the lid at one point. To rectify this i would like the manufacturers of pritt-stick to do two things:

1. Make the outer casing square or triangular, so that it doesnt role around everywhere.
2. Stop being pricks.

I pay enough for this shit form of glue and all it does is piss me off. This poem i created a while ago sums up the average experience with pritt-stick.

Grile.

Where the fuck is the pritt stick,
Now I can never stick it,

It must have rolled away young child,
Its stickin abilitys are relatively mild,
PVA is the way forward young child
The man smiled.

Oh wait, I’ve found the pritt stick,
It was underneath the desk,
But where the fuck is the lid,
The gluey head is a dusty mess!

AW FOR FUCK SAKE,
THERES HARDLY ANY GLUE LEFT,
THE PLASTIC IS PRETRUDING, SCRAPING MY PAPER,
A FATE,
WORSE,
THAN DEATH.

Don't know why its called Grile...

As christmas approaches i feel the necessity to eat loads, like a gluttonous panther with the munchies. I'm taking advantage of wafer thin ham. Yes, it is pretty shit, but its still relatively expensive, and a rare commodity at uni so therefore i lap it up with a bit of bread and mayo etc.

This year, because im a stingey prick and my brother is quite good at cooking, we are cooking christmas dinner for the family as my mums present. This Allows my mum to get merry on a few glasses of wines without getting stressy and aggressive with aunt Bessie and her blasted yorkshire puddings!

I recently bought Rage Against The Machine - Killing In The Name as part of a scheme to make sure a shitty x factor song wouldn't get christmas number 1 again. I would love Killing In The Name to come on after the queens speech! It would be like like showing 2 girls one cup straight after a christening.

I may aswell mention that Ipswich are tearing up the championship and have gone 10 games unbeaten. 20th in the league now...get in! Play-offs 'ere we come! For years football has shat on me, but in a way i like being shat on, not in a 2 girls 1 cup way, but in a, 'yeh but atleast i aint a fuckin glory hunting dickhead that don't even know' way. I think to appreciate good football, you need to be deprived of it. You need to first appreciate shit football, the younger you start, the more you will buzz off a tiny amount of skill or standard one-two and therefore gain more enjoyment out of the game as a whole. Having said this, i find watching non-league footie quite painful sometimes because i genuinely feel i could do better if i wern't a lazy, unfit bastard. I get to the odd braintree game and don't mind have a quick watch of random sunday league teams if I'm passing by but avid fans of non-league tend to be a different breed of fan. Generally a bit inbred or retarded in some way and appreciate every moment of the shit football they watch. This, i find quite frightening. Imagine if they did go to Old Trafford or The Emirates... They'd probably get a stonking erection, likely to pop after 40 seconds of play, or after a correctly taken throw-in.

On the theme of erections, whilst criticising what would make X-Factor better, Myself and McLean decided that it would be utterly hilarious if Simon Cowell ran onto the stage - naked, with an erection - and proceeded in beating Leonna Lewis with a pork chop, and whilst running he was shitting himself, flinging poo in all manner of directions. Just imagine. Imagine the pure anger on his face. He's fucking angry... no one knows why?...and this is how he shows it. What is the significance of the erection? He's really angry yet he has an erection? He's shitting himself. That's well funny. I hope it happens. We can only hope.

Fankoo for reading. x