Red and Black and Yellow

I have grand designs for my new house. Well, when I say "grand designs" basically I mean making it as tacky, overblown and as kitsch as my meagre budget and facilities will allow. Of course I would love to be able to draw all over the walls and plaster every surface with a layer of glitter, paint the well pink and blow up the shed but unfortunately this is an ambition of mine that will surely have to wait.
My intention is eventually to maybe do some more painting. Well, when I say "painting" I mean throwing paint all over two pages on an art book, usually picking the colours red yellow and black, chucking glitter all over the top (one may notice a trend here), shutting the page and sitting on top of it for half an hour listening to tapes of Radiohead which I agrovatingly have to rewind, fastforward and turn over anytime I want to listen to anything particular. This would often be hindered by the fact I had painted the tapeplayer with glitter (...) and thus I would listen to the refrain from "Just" and it would be time to open the book again, where I would meet with a explosion of acrylic and tiny little bits of silver foil. THAT is how I got my Art GCSE, and I don't regret a moment of it.
Although I don't want to do that anymore. Likewise I don't want to paint any more pictures of boats, shells, I don't want to emulate the style of Turner and I most certainly do not want to copy any more Frieda fucking Kahlo's. I envisage myself now, cigarette in one hand, can of coke in the other, pen in mouth doodling basically enlessly all summer taking brief breaks to write more ridiclous blogs and to go to work, where I will write more blogs. I might turn the shed into my studio seeing as I can't blow it up. Who was that guy who blew up the shed? I saw it at the Tate Modern. Oh well.
So anyway yes I am full of great big fat huge ideas and, as is always the way, I don't currently have the means to undertake any of them. Just you wait though- I am getting passionate again.

Hypergraphia

Well, perhaps not.

The mobile phone you have called is switched off

God.
Today my schedule letter came today re: finance for next year, and owing to some round-a-bout fuck-up involving my dad's accountant, some Scottish people and the LEA I have been denied my grant for next year. Why? Who knows. Apparently it needs to be reassessed and then we will see.
Will we now? So until then I frantically wait by the postbox in anticipation of the news that has the casting stone whether I bother to finish my degree?
As much as I like my job I can't help get angry at people who get angry with me regarding other people's short-fallings. This is why today when I called the SLC I didnt shout at Hamish because ultimately it isnt his fault, the same way that none of this is mine, although I dont think this is particually good for my blood pressure. I need to calm down and not get so mad all of the time.


It's only 15 days until I move into my new house. Which means that it is 13 days until my birthday and until I get paid. And I have the weekend off.
Nothing else can excite me more

It rained and it rained and it rained

It's raining. As usual I am procrastinating.
Isn't it funny that when I read an angst-wridden blog I screw up my eyes and get angry about it but then I just do it myself?
I didn't have the best time last night. It was generally ok, but I felt like I barely knew anyone. I didnt know what to say or how to act so I ended up getting slightly drunk. And what on earth is the good in that?
It's still raining. It's been raining for a long time now.
I still have done hardly any work, still, it's a short piece of writing.. I might just get on with it and stop thinking about what I am thinking about.

Sister I'm a..

Usually I might write about how fed I am about certain things or people or really anything at all. A petal that slightly obscured my vision, a spot of rain that ruined the curve of my hair and so on.
Today, no.
Today I am less morose than I have been at other points in the week but still terribly.. well lost at sea is perhaps the phrase that is best suited. Of course not physically, that would be impossible, but in my mind. Oh what a barren wasteland that is. Sometimes I feel full to the brim of life and excitement and hope and possibility. I argue with myself, "you're too young! you have time to catch up!", "you're still young" whilst all around me things are starting to wither away, getting so old. There is grace and dignity in the old but there is the sense of time melting away; you should be married by now, thinking about a family, a career. And still everyone is flying backwards and forwards after one thing or another and surviving on pipe dream after pipe dream. But the same thing that repells me I am hopelessly and unforgivingly enraptured with.

I'd like to think I was somehow different, how I haven't got myself lost in this constant turning on time and the bitching and the gaudy faces. I'd like to think I am not a lot of things, and I am often wrong.
As is common of me at these periods I look back on past times. I remember this time last year I was a hideous wreck. I rarely went to school, I spent day after day clambering from friend to friend, home to bed and out to the beach again. That's all we did. And god it feels like an age ago now. I honestly felt like I was living in a black hole, thoughts and memories of Gene came hurtling towards me getting sucked in the rush and forgotten, spinning through days like there was no stopping. Of course it did.
Early June. I thought, as do those in the idiocy of a broken heart, that I could sit around playing Ludo and deciding I was alright really and that would be the end of it, like a light switch I could turn off and on as I wished, a bathroom tap. The most amazing thing for me is thinking back on this time and how I waited and I waited and I waited to move out of Thanet as if some miracle might occur overnight! Like moving me and all my things to somewhere slightly different might make it all go away. And the older I get and the more I think about it I begin to know
It was less about them and more about me
My agony is rarely the cause of anyone else! My life doesn't feel like it is falling apart because of anyone else's wrongs! Of course there are times when I find it a lot easier to blame others, its like a rotting plague to me- people, the talking, the snarling, the in-jokes, the smell of alcohol on another. It sickens me. But most of all I sicken myself. How, at my age, I would rather lock myself away in the top of my room surrounded by clothes and books and pieces of paper because I wake up in the morning and know they will never deceive me. They won't leave for anything else, they belong to me. And if I must be selfish then selfish I shall be.
All in all I am not ashamed of who I am. The way I approach things is that it is fine for me to be disappointed with myself but if many feel this resentment towards me then frankly I find it difficult to care. Of course I live with exceptions, there are some (who surely know exactly who they are) who's opinions are sacred to me and I would never want to argue with this view. Oh I am going on so awfully much..



...I think I have Sylvia Plath effect

Futher realisations

- As much as I quite like you, your forced arrogance and superiority really yanks my chain sometimes
- Oh to be as misunderstood and miserable and yet so completely adored like you would be such a lovely thing.
- I've been waiting years for you to come home and to grow up and I know now that this is very unlikely.
- Cancer chic makes me sick
- Really, please now, get over your fucking self. We aren't kids anymore..
- By god, I didn't realise how old you are looking. And old people look so ridiculous pretending to be young. I now know that so much was fabrication. What a waste of time.
- There is nothing I can say that will change the way you are acting. But you look silly. Time will show that.
- You are a vindictive, manipulative cow and I swear if you cross the line then I will too despite holding my tongue so far.


Some of you I can't fault though. I like you.

The week that was

or

What I learnt this week

1) Working on your own at a job has its distinct benefits. It is useful for not having to natter to anyone, for reading books, for having a peaceful time. However it then becomes a huge hindrance when one's throat is the size of a pea and, as I found early on this morning, I was only able to communicate through a series of squeaks, groans and mumbles. It then becomes problematic re: getting time off.

2) A person would sooner write an angry email (in this case outlining what they find to be the fundamental flaws with your request, how you are "putting pressure" on them to do as you wish despite merely asking politely, being unnecessarily vindictive and bitter and so on and so forth) which would then take up more of their precious time (of course the world must surely end for exams, you simply COULD NOT do anything else except for maybe sending out reactionary emails and going on facebook) then actually just doing what was required in the first place. The pettiness and the arrogance of this is surely beyond my understanding.

3) Once again I have had it reiterated within myself that often the way a day is meant to be is completely different to how it will be. I never thought for one moment that this Thursday would see me accidentally flinging various drinks round the theatre cafe of that I would make my radio debut thirty seconds after the idea was conceived. I was hoping for something a bit more stable for my first appearance but I was without stress or worry so I can take massive solace for that. I also must not it is easier to tell people to go on the radio than doing it yourself, and that is a side of the fence I would rather stay on.

4) Meetings, on the most part, are a complete waste of time and energy. Especially when they involve watching a disgusting and embarrassing video. Of course that was more the fault of my face as opposed to the media.

5) When there is the introduction of the Trinity Term noise ban and the prohibition of BBQ's some crank will decide to have a party, catering supplied outside the venue. People seem to stomp louder this time of year. Of course, mainly I am against the noise ban but if it means that people will make more noise in order to get one over 'the man' then I seriously disapprove.

6) Fiona and I, however hard we try, will always be too stupid, young or disillusioned to be able to undertake any political debate about anything ever.

7) Kentmail is, practically, my whole life. I am a floundering fish without it. Sad but true

I really could go on forever

The Idiocy of Youth

I know many of you would have seen these, either when they were first posted or when I have been cackling at them since when I re-found them locked inside the Internets forever. But I think they are important for a number of reasons:
- They show what a ridiculously overblown, pathetic, snivelling, jealousy-ridden greasy little youth I was. I was so desperately contrived.
- They serve to remind myself that I am not as awful as I used to be
- They can be horrendously funny.

Half the time I find it hard to actually work out what I meant. I used to cloud everything over in, what I thought, a mystical cloud, like I was some kind of enigma. However, most of the time I think I was too scared to really say what I meant in fear of reverberations.

My first entry (well I say my first, my first entry “on paper” as it were was blank owing to a technical hitch from a 13 year old Kirsty) was a veritable tour de force of ideas and emotions ( please note I have not corrected the spelling, grammar or the absurdness of my prose, so sorry):-

25rd April 2002
I have taken the decision to npt acctually tell anyone what my name on this is- Well my real name is Kirstylyn McComiskey but I mean I'm not telling anyone what my screen name is. Maybe whoever has read this has worked it out as I will give hints... Well to cut a long story short, Tim is in love with Becky, but I think i'm still in love with Tim. But all I want is Tim to be happy, and he is happy. I mean heavenly happy.. Dpon't get me wrong or anything ebut I do like Becky, shes a lovely girl and is good for Tim.. But..despite my feelings, I could never be with Tim again for a number of reasons:
1) He is totally and utterly in love with Becky
2) Hes my best friend and I dont want to loose my friendship with him
3) my parents would have a voyage to freakout city
4) I'm not entirely sure that I do love him or not. Well I do, but i dunno if the feeling will last for long.
Its jes a totally wacco idea thats all...bloody hell

Please take note of bullet point three and the closing sentence. What on earth possessed me to type with such gut-retching disgustingness? Ok, I was only 13 and granted I didn’t tYPe lEIk dIs but still! I am ashamed with myself. Oh and Kirsty no you most certainly didn’t love him as you were only 13. Take note for future. What’s all this about giving hints? Did I really do that? I exasperate myself sometimes I really do. A loosened friendship is the best kind of friendship.
Constantly I used words like “jes”, “thass”, “kewl”, “laff” like I was some kind of renegade Geordie. Embarrassingly I spelt come “cum” for a long time. I particularly hate the use of the word “sux” however I was far from the main offender. It was all “school suxs” and “chavs sux” and “homework sux” and “not being able to go to the disco because I am grounded because I spent all my lunch money on McFlurry sux”.
This one is particularly good:

In the I.T room again and I feel like I want to throw myself out of the window.Life totally sucks..unless you have a theory. And mines is that life is only as difficult as you decide to make it.So I guess why I weant to throw myself out the window. Today has been one of those days (ie- Missing the bus, having food tech, loss of bus pass, bad hair, gurls being shitty, rain etc etc). The only thing that cheered me up was an email from a friend of mine telling me that he was happy in his liife which I found rather cheering. What I dont find cheering is, however, that I aint seem Tim for quite a while (ok so it aint really his fault but I really cant be fecked to go to the library(I haven't the emotional temperment right now thanks). Chavs sux...sorry random cooment there. Ok how does a chav girl turn the light off after sex? She closes the car door.

There is nothing I can say to explain or excuse this. I can’t believe how awful I was at typing! The embarrassing thing is that I retold that joke the other day to Fiona I believe like I never tired of it Can I also point out that at the time a bit of rain and losing a bus pass was a MAJOR deal ok. Absolutely shocking.

I wrote a poem when I was 13. If I showed it to you I would die in shame.




See ya later “suxers”

The worrying time

My perception with recent times is that as I have reached teenage years is what I see as a conditioning of the mind. When I was about seven until around the age of twelve I never worried about pedophiles or rapists or anything like that at all. And perhaps this could be because I was at that innocent age where I didn’t see these things because I was blind to them.
However I see society as producing many recognizable features in the younger generations today that I wouldn’t necessarily recognize in myself at the same age.

Firstly my brother, he will grow up in an age where it is seen as part of society where things like rape and fear of attack are regular things, they have been conditioned in a way to find these things acceptable and that can only have a derogatory effect on society. They say knowledge is power and thats fine, but I think you can be too aware of things so much so you let it dictate your life, you worry about things that perhaps have been blown out of proportion, I am not denying there is a problem but rather that there may be some problem about knowing too much and worrying too much.

I also feel, for a number of reasons that children are not being given the best upbringing they could have had. Perhaps this is old fashioned but with women having more rights, which is brilliant, it has also led to the decline of the stable family home. Children are dumped in front of the TV or a videogame rather with engaging properly with their peers. Of course this is not true of all cases, far from it, but as an effect it will become noticeable. Children need to have an imagination and need to develop their minds, not to be repressed from an early age. Once again this is detrimental to the successfulness of the society as a whole.

University Truths

On my expeditions through Facebook and TheStudentBar I often encounter a list of "things UCAS didn't tell you" or "You know you've been at uni too long when..". Anyway I am going to write my own because my opinion is more valid and rounded.

• //I would rather make some elaborate excuse about dragons stampeeding through my house, noses ablaze, torching through my vital organs that admitting to myself and the seminar leader that I just couldn't be bothered to go (save when I was actually ill, although I seem a bit boy who cried wolf now)
• //My books are always late back to the library. Peroid.
• //It is rather amusing to get lost in one of the colleges
• //I tidy my room, mess it up again, tidy it, mess it up again constantly
• //Laundry day is the worst day of my life.
• //Being able to watch clips of TV episodes on the internet becomes the greatest invention of all time and it doesn't seem to matter that one has to get up every five minutes in order to load the next section.
• //I will find anything to do which will distract me from an essay or just general boredness. I will take unecessary trips to the library, organize my pencil case, go to Woodies for a pint of Diet Coke, journey to the vending machines on campus and so on.
• //Powercuts and Lunar Eclipses become social events.
• //90% of the uni will be a significant player in some society and will wear a hoodie demonstrating this 99% of the time.
• //I am becoming increasingly jealous of the above demograph.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday.

My articulation has seemingly gone out the window today, I extend my apologises.


I have always always always hated Sunday. This has improved slightly recently since I have been working on a Sunday again because it kills the time and I make coins for me to go out and buy lipsticks and shampoos with.
However, when I worked at Morellis, Sundays would be one of the worst days. At about 11 O’clock a number of the old crones would come in after their visit to the house of God for their weekly fix of legal drugs. And how slow they were! And what a mess!
I had a break in the middle of the day for ten minutes. Because of this RIDICULOUS time restriction I often had to bring in food from home or buy it on the way. Anyway basically when you have been working all day Saturday in a cream uniform which is now covered in chocolate sauce and you want to go out and snog loads of guys ( remember I was 16) you don’t really want to be standing around making sandwiches. To cut a long story short it is hard to get anything to eat before 10 and after 4 which were roughly my hours (plus a couple of hours at the end when I dodged the bins being thrown by the boss). I hereby blame Morellis and Sunday Opening Hours for my frequentation of Sanchos.
Then, when you don’t work Sunday is still terrible. The trains don’t really run properly, neither do the busses, you can’t go shopping, you try and go for a walk and land is crowded with lots of other people trying to enjoy one of the two days they have off by doing something really really boring.
So anyway, Sundays are mainly created for the following persons:
- Christians, it’s the ‘day of rest’. Bollocks, everyone is trying to find work on a Sunday to try and overcome the monotonous gloom.
- Dog walkers/cyclists/ramblers
- Killjoys

Everyone knows that Sunday is an interlude to the rest of the week, a little taster of the horrible week ahead. We aren’t idiots, give the Sunday back to the working week and let us have more time off Friday night so I can wear my lipsticks.

Certain people I know

I was going to start with a politically-fuelled debate of the state of the British Isles, how the classes still very much rule the masses and the horrible realisation that to bring a child into the world in which ours is becoming could be seen as a heresy. However, I am really stupid so instead I won’t. Instead I will write about how annoying people can be.
In my opinion a lot of people can be classified into certain stereotypes. This is wrong of me I know, but it makes things easier in justifying their actions in my mind and making snide comments about them in pubs. So here we go;-

The Interferer:

This type of person will cast judgements of elements of your life mainly when you least want them to. They will see themselves wise and able to empathise with every situation that life throws at you. However this is all a mere fabrication because it’s most likely that this person has a limited knowledge of social interaction and instead has acquired all their knowledge through their faux-philosophical ponderings in-between refreshing livejournal and stroking the dog.

The Boaster:

The boaster is easily spotted, or rather isn’t. This is because you will rarely see this person because they are too busy on safari/going to theme parks when everyone else is working/writing a blog about their experience. So if they are not doing something “amazing” they are writing about it or worse telling you about it. Often they will provide props; a set of photographs from Tenerife, a list of the presents they got for their birthday, and the worst, a glorious suntan/ornate donkey. They will try to drop in their astounding good fortune in every conversation regardless of its theme. “Oh yes I know the third world is suffering a terrible plight but when I was out in Malaga last week...” (See also The Only Child)


The Only Child (or those with fairly rich parents, often of non- British origin):

Not all only-children are bigheaded, pompous spoilt brats but a majority seem to be. They will always be on some life changing trip with their other privileged friends on their parent’s money because it has been assumed that the child has been denied some kind of upbringing by the absence of a sibling and thus should be treated as one who a deity. Sometimes they will like to include you by asking you to come out to dinner with them or something like that but this will always be somewhere really expensive as so they can be certain that you won’t actually accept the offer but are able to save face at the same time. This is when they do go out, however as usually they are in Africa or in the library trying to swot up in order to win in an ongoing battle with their peers to gain the highest score in the science quiz. If they don’t get an A on the paper they will cry in the toilet. This has been witnessed at least half a dozen times in as many years.

The Guilt Bearer:

This person will make you feel guilty for everything. A common scenario is when they have written a 3000 word essay and keep reminding you of this then casually asking you how many you have done. When the reply is something like “about 4” they will usually say something like “oh don’t worry you have another night to do it” when really inside they are ecstatic that they have able to have this small victory. If you go on to get a better mark they will purse their lips, say well done but then return home to fashion a voodoo doll and begin the next essay before it is even set. If they do better they will extend their commiserations and their head will grow to something comparable to the size of a hot air balloon.

The Highly Opinionated:

Whatever conversation you have with this person, be it about an observation you have made, a book you have read, a flower you like, anything, they will have an opinion on it. If they didn’t have one before then they will surely make one up on the spot and it is very likely to differ from yours in order to start some ridiculous debate which will be resolved in three ways (always favouring them);
a) you will instantly tire of their attitude and resign yourself to agreeing with them in the hope they might go away
b) If they are of a lower intellect but particularly tenacious they will often use the following comebacks: “what can’t hear you!”, “yeah but no”, “you’re wrong” or “no” repeated to infinity and “shut up, you’re gay”. This will then be followed by part a).
c) They will throw religion into the mix.



The Under Opinionated

*Song on radio*
You: “Oh wow I love this song”
Them: “Yeah I think I’ve heard it, what’s it called again?”
You: “fucking bitchtits”
Them: “Oh yeah I’ve heard of them, I have their album silly me! I listen to it every day”
You: “Please go away. It is unlikely I will approve of you more if you try to emulate my every move, and by the way I hate this song I was only pretending”
Them: “Me too”

Worse than this is when someone tries to either:
1.Get into an argument they don’t understand and then end up looking foolish
2.Try to appear overly opinionated on the things everyone is opinionated about like they thought of it first.

Coffee-o-phobia (2004)

or

How Morellis bored me to insanity


"I really hate Morellis today. I think it is just because I was shouted at by some idiot who things that because he is about 20 years older than me by age, that means he is far mentally superior. Bullshit. Today I rung in two sundaes, because thats what the guy had. Then Jimmy the uphisownarse foreign guy pushed down on my looming finger and rung in a third which then had to be taken off again. I was right he was wrong. Tosser. After that he got an attitude with me all day when I told him off jokingly. Seems it is OK to joke on his terms. £3.30 an hour is rubbish too for the amout of work. The boss has mild fits, the other is far too stingy. Lots of people have remarked how they would like a job there..no, no you don't. All of a sudden I love my school. I miss it so much. "

Later: Ok, so a few weeks have passed since then and things at work are a little better but only due to the fact I only work one day a week now. Also myself and my childhood friend Paul, along with Martin, have found amusing ways to pass the time.1) Collecting the paper decorations that are put in the big ice creams, and in the cause of Martin, putting them on your death trap of a bike with no brakes. At least he dies with monkey coverted,
2) Throwing things at customers and seeing if they notice
3) Whipping each other with the tea-towels in a perverted way
4) Laughing at Will
5) Laughing at the boss and the stupid things he said like "don't lean", " That's it", " Ummm...*looks around, tumble-weed goes by* Martin, can you get me half a turn of good mix?". Then after lauging mocking these 365 days a year
6) Calling each other "a ------------- (descriptive word) mofo", i.e sexy, stupid, ugly, monkey etc.
7) Calling the boss immature for having a water pistol and conkers
8) Making catapults out of elastic bands
9) Daring tricks of throwing spoons into the container in interesting and death defying ways. Double back flip a favourite ( the spoon does this not us)
10) Reminising about the people at Primary school with Paul
11) Eating the leftovers and stealing "illegal" drinks from the dispenser.
12) Using the plunger (a kirsty favourite)
13) Watching the clock
14) Squashing paninis
15) Forgetting who the food is for
16) Being the "scubber"
17) Pretending to dry up
18) Acctually doing any work (0.1% of the time)

Unfortunately such merriment is only available when I manage to stay in the kitchen for more that 10 seconds when I am stuffing Flake in my mouth. Chris, my boss, seems to think that Kirstylyn does infact love scooping ice cream so much that he puts me "down the window end" all day from 11 to 6. This place is the furthest away from kitchen fun and the only communication I get with Paul and Martin is when they say "Hullo" when putting a cup back. Martin is eternally scared of the ice cream end when one day under my apprenticeship he managed to know other a whole rack of about 30 cones, which smashed into a million pieces. He has not been back since. This week I was a "lucky mofo". I got to be on big ice creams which is quite a cushy job, but not as bitchin as the kitchen. Its quite hard to memorise all the ice cream things but I got the hang of it. The trick is to chuck as much shit in as possible without getting into trouble. On the whippy machine I am allowed to do two rounds and then off, and we charge £1:60. Bare coinage geez. Mr Morellis must take baths in gold, expecially when he pays us hard working souls 3 30. the gay.more laterps: coffee-o-phobia is caused by third degree burns from the coffee machine, it makes you go pretty insane. I have the scars.

Nightsickness(2004)

There is a thing I get some evenings, and it's called night sickness. As my closest friends know, I like stuff. I like clothes and shoes, bags, hats. I like food, I like cities and mountains. I could even go as far as to say I like this horrid unfair world.
But it gets to a certain time, usually after I have spent all my money on something or other and I start to think "What's the bloody point?". My head runs through with all these thoughts, mostly saying something along the lines of " I am going to die, this is a temporary existence, I will mean nothing, I might as well wear crap clothes and live in a caravan like that women from the anthology. I don't need to work my whole life for money, I don't need food, I might as well just die now". And the only way to cure these thoughts is by hitting myself on the head and declaring I am stupid.
But ultimately, I'm not. I am right. Why am I sitting here writing this when I could be busy dead? I suppose humans have it built into their heads clear definitions on what makes us happy and what makes us sad. Humans also feel they have the right to always be happy and when bad things happen then it isn't fair. Yet who said that? No-one ever said that life was meant to be easy. It's like the whole concept of pain. Pain is just a human emotion that we choose to compute. If we pretend it is something else, it could be something else.
Sometimes I feel like having a child and keeping it away from all other people and contact with the outside world and changing the rules. I will teach it that red is now green (as far as the child is concerned, the colour green has always been what we would call red) and tell it nothing of pain. I will call a table a telephone and say odd words. This is, however, a very cruel thing to do, and I certainly would be in deep trouble if I did this, but it is easy to see how all these things, these emotions, were just hearsay, passed on from generation to generation. We invented money. We invented war. And we also invented religion.
This is less of the revolutionary statement it used to be. Now this is my own opinion, and we could argue for a bloody long time about the existence of God or some other magician, but inventing God was a brilliant way of explaining the unexplainable. Now say you broke a cup, and shards of glass shattered all over the floor, and someone asks you who did that, and you make someone up. No-one has ever seen this person, no-one ever will. Let us call him Boo. Now Boo isn't seen but everyone believes it was him who broke the cup, and you have got yourself out of a big hole and don't have to explain yourself to your scary wife, mother etc. But now your wife and/or mother would be pretty stupid in believing in something that they have never seen and have to rely on what you say. In real life, if your husband or son etc said that to you, you'd tell him he was a jackass and make him pay. This is similar to a belief in God. Yet this is a normal "rational" belief in modern society. Insanity is everywhere I say.

Wales is the best I promise (2004)

(originally written for www.dowboy.tk and reused with no permission whatsoever because I wrote it Jackass)
What the Hell is Wrong with Wales?!
I thought for a while on what I should write about and I have finally decided what is possibly the thing that annoys me the most in life.
When I am all grown up, finished school, slaved away for a year for hard cash and generally become as bored as I can be by the time I'm 19, I'm leaving this place. No longer will I sit at this computer in the corner of my bedroom, no, I will sit in the corner of a room after coming back from university. I will be living in North Wales, around the Rhyl area.
Now I have told many of my friends this. It is not a dream, a hope, an aspiration, I am going and that is it. Why? Because it is better than here. And there is one thing I hear all the time that I dont undertand. Without fail I will here this question and theory:
"Errrrrrrrr, why do you want to live there, they all shag sheep?!"
Now can I just ask, is that a tested hypothesis or speculation? Or do you have first hand experience? Because when I hear this, it makes me want to drag them there by their hair and force them to look. Why do I want to live there? Because it kicks Thanet's spotty little ass.
Snowdonia, North Wales


(edit: go google Snowdonia, now I am 18 I CBA with putting in pictures)

Now you dont see that in Newington do you? No. You dont see anything like that anywhere around here. Its as flat as a witches tit. Yet people nag on about " oo theres nothing there" and "ooo its shit". May I ask, have you been? No!! I bet you havent. I know one person who has a right to say he didnt like it there and thats because he lived up a mountain and the highlight of his week was the post van. But thats called rural there. Here its called Monkton. And Monkton doesnt have the benefits of sceney. Yet there is a nice pub..
Anyway here are a list of reasons why Rhyl is better than Thanet
1) We have Hartsdown swimming pool, thats as good as it gets around here, if you fight your way past the chavs making out in the park. Rhyl has a massive swimming pool, wave simulator, two flumes, octopus slide, swimming shop, cafe, pot noodle machine and monorail. RHYL WINS.
2) I loved Dreamland. I don't know why exactly, just a lot of memories I suppose. Andrew being sick on the Waltzers (classic), Me running for a ride, falling over and being laughed at, the flying elephants. Where dreams were made. But the tycoon J.G decided that " oh no people are having far too much fun, lets make it shite and then close it down, that'll be really evil hahah, now me and Frank Thorley will rule the world". And so it went, along with Carnabys the best shop in Margate. So now we have nowt except a few arcades, the best two having which caught fire (nice one again Godden) which also include snogging chavs.
Rhyl's seafront streches for miles. Hundreds of arcades usually containing dance machine masters. Various shop selling brilliant shite on one side, while the other has a amusment park for younger children operated by very good-looking young men, and next to this a complex with a cool as hell Indian restuarant which colour scheme is pink, the tourist info unit which is useful strangely enough, and lots of foody outlets like you get on Rollercoaster Tycoon. Further up past the Tattoo outlets and rock shops is the brilliant drealand-esque park which is still going strong and was recently visited by those teenage genious boys Blazin' Squad*. It also has a kick-ass market, both new and second hand stuff, with a crazy shoe seller. RHYL WINS
3) Now to give some credit to Margate, I havent found a decent pool place in Rhyl yet, and the bowling alley is pretty small, yet it is next to the sea. But I guess.. MARGATE WINS.
4) Things they have that we dont:
Observation Tower
Humourous Horror Dungeon
Tourists
Topshop
Half pipes by the sea
Lido-esque outside swimming pool
Castles
Welsh People and Brummie Chavs (hilarious)
Slate Museums (a must-see)
Near to the town with the longest place name in the world ( I have been there, the shop is fabulous. They sell all this stuff with the name on it like railway tickets and teddies. Adam had a whale of a time)
Are you starting to see my point? Everyone hates Thanet, I'm such Chris would agree. Take it from us, get away while you can. Oh and the Stereophonic's come from Wales..need I say more.
N.B Other places that kick Thanet's butt include Everywhere
The End

* Humour

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Pet Shop (2004)

In my short and wistful life, I have encountered many sources of inspiration. I have a very distinct memory of spotting all my older friends reading a mysterious blue and yellow book, and thinking " Hey, what is that, and why do you love it so?".
I borrowed the afore mentioned document from my friend Andrew ( I am apprehensive to write this as I have as of yet failed to return it, and I am sure he hasn't noticed) and read a little of it. The size of the monumental script put me off a little, yet I felt much better when I realized it was in fact four books. However, these fears were resumed when the text size used within it was usually used in the bible or other longwinded and, dare I say it, boring books. Isn't it amazing that boring is such a..well boring word. Let's think of other similar words: arid, bomb, bromidic, characterless, cloying, colourless, commonplace, drab, drag, drudging, dull, flat, insipid, lifeless, monotonous, moth-eaten, platitudinous, repetitious, routine, spiritless, stale, stereotyped, stodgy, stuffy, stupid, tame, tedious, threadbare, tiresome, tiring, trite, unexciting, unvaried, vapid, wearisome, well-worn, zero. Now with the exception of trite (that is my most favouritist word, what with it being in so many of the songs I like and it sounding terribly like tripe which is terribly funny) they are all unhappy words. Cutyourownthroat words as Terry Pratchett may say (more on him later).
This is what I thought of the sacramental book when I first started reading it, and to use a completely arbitrary word, I thought it seemed awfully trite. I read a little and didn't feel a profound effect and so tossed it aside and read other things such as my beloved Terry Pratchett books. Nothing wrong with these books yet in retrospect I have now decided that this was a little of an unwise choice. I yearned to finish the book, I am that sort of person, and took to reading it again. And I finished it in record time and still didn't feel as if my life had changed, just feeling that I'd just read a classic book that was also very funny and made the name Ford suddenly appropriate to name my first born son.
It wasn't until I read the fifth book Mostly Harmless that I began to notice the genius that was the vein under everything I had read by him. This final book is, in my opinion, the best of the Hitchhikers trilogy of five. My main memory of this book is when Ford is falling out of the window at the Guide headquarters. I could lie to you and say I know exactly why he was falling but, to be honest, I don't have the slightest clue. All I know is that it is what youths these days would call a "well good book".
If your life has been with little excitment and you find yourself sitting at home one lonely Sunday afternoon, I give you this task to do. Read the fourth book So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish from start to end, paying particular attention to the love between Arthur and Fenchurch, and whilst doing this listen to Pet Shop Boy's actually album. I challenge you to try and explain how the hell this CD fits so well whilst reading the book. Cause I'm damned if I know why.

An Introduction (2004)

As a sort-of introduction, here is something I wrote in 2004. One particually boring Sunday I whacked this one off ( no rude comments please) and ended up using it for a GCSE folder piece for English.. well it got me a decent grade..

"I never chose to live in Thanet, it was imposed upon me at a young age. My mother and I lived in a large flat in Deal. I liked it there except for when the bells rang in the morning and I can remember screaming at them for silence sometimes when I was feeling especially daring. When I was young living in Deal was fine to me. My nan, grandad and uncle also lived here and often visiting them gave me some of my favorite memories as a child, including those I can't even remember (I guess that doesn't make them memories but oh well)
For instance my grandfather for a time lived in a flat on the parade, and after being particularly excited to see him one day I ran into the road, whilst a large articulated lorry headed right at me. My mother had probably never had been so white, yet I remember nothing of that. I suppose it's for the best. Also I remember opposite his flat being where the visiting fun-fair made it's home for two holy weeks of the year, and then myself single-handedly zapping my mum of money with rides on rickety old car tracks and those stupid balloons with toys in that you could bash up and down really fast and they'd make a ridiculous noise, explode and deposit the garishly coloured (usually Barbie Girl pink) teddy into the over-trodden wet mud. I loved those balloons and I won a lot of them over the years, usually by attacking a plastic duck with a large hook, yet at this pre-education age it was probably a life skill I needed to learn sooner or later. It makes you think now how you can no longer win these gaudy balloons but instead can take your pick from fake Disney lookeylikeys or plastic replica machine guns. Just shows what the world is coming to.
Deal at a young age can seem quite interesting, especially when my uncle would jazz up stories with anecdotes about people being thrown through the window at the Clarendon Pub or a drug-fueled car chase, but most of the time I reckoned he was lying, just like my nan's boyfriend whenever I asked him where he was going. He'd always reply,without fail, "I'm going to see a man about a dog", which worked the first 100 times but when he used to come back with no pedigree chum and smelling distantly of the aforementioned Clarendon I started to get suspicious. Sometimes he'd take me out, usually to do manly things he enjoyed. For instance Brian was an avid Fisher and regularly took me to the pier, which I found rather scary really because I wasn't sure about the stability of the thing, and Deal can get quite windy at certain times of the year. Yet I forgot all this when we reached the end and could eat greasy bacon rolls and milkshakes which my mum never seemed to give me. I remember her giving me lots of beans though and anyone who knows me well enough knows I hate beans, almost as much as Ruby Wax in fact, but not quite. He'd also take me to watch the local football team play which I found very boring, for reasons I will explain later.
My nan was a completely different experience all together. She'd shop in brick-a-brac shops and look for "a nice bit of beef for dinner" for us to eat while Brian was out obviously looking for Lassie. I didn't mind though because when I was younger I was resist ably cute and people would "aww" in the street. I think part of the appeal was when I refused to wear clothes when I was about 2 and a half and would just wear a nappy and run about with a duster and a miniature Hoover trying to help out. My mum probably thought this was a sign that I was going to grow up and be really helpful, but boy did I show her.
My nan worked in a cafe-come-garden centre which I spent quite a lot of time in. There was this old man, who looked a bit like a salty sea dog (whatever that is) used to trick me into thinking he only had half a finger which amused my tiny mind hugely. I also remember Painless Geoff the tattoo artist being mentioned a lot. This name was obviously given with irony, and I have heard from a reliable source that when he is drunk he works better that when he is sober. I think I'll just take their word for it, rather them than me. My mother got a couple of tattoos from him but she isn't sure why.
I've noticed that it is a common fact that the older you get the more you hate Deal. This makes me imagine old ladies having trolley rage in Sainsbury's on Saturday afternoon fighting over broccoli for Sunday lunch. That would be funny. Yet seriously, the nearer teenage years the less scope there is for abstaining from a rough lifestyle. Deal is filled with council estates and subsequently these are filled with play areas, a desperate and hopeless attempt at stopping kids smashing up greenhouses or playing with fire. They usually just set alight to the park and this keeps them happy. The play area outside my nans house has had the roundabout replaced three times and the seesaw and giant slide removed all together. I had two friends who lived up the road from my nan and their favorite hobby was riding down the slide in a plastic milk crate then smashing their heads in at the bottom and repeating until the crate broke or they had to go in for tea. These friends were two brothers, one was quite short and must have been a good four years older than me, his bother nearer my age but massive in size who always had a knack for losing my frizbee. One of them may or may not have been called Shane.
One day I was happily playing in my wendy house when all of a sudden I was in a van with Amy the cat, transporting stuff to an alien planet as far as I was concerned. The man driving the red postman pat van I'd met before somewhere. And then it clicked. It was the man who took me to the zoo the week before and we were going to live in his house. Little did I know at the time but this man was going to be my Dad, but at the time I was more worried about where Fluff and Teddy Demoiyer were. Odd name for a bear but that's me really. The first thing that struck me about the strange man's house was how big it was. There was television in the dining room held up by videos and Thomas the Tank Engine was playing so I shut up and watched it despite not understanding where the hell I was. All I knew for about a year was that I lived in Broadstairs. Well I didn't actually live in Broadstairs but I could never remember Cliftonville so I said that instead. There was no park and certainly no plastic crates down our road and so that was an improvement. Or maybe I was deprived...Yet there was no stupid church bells so that was an improvement at least. "