Look, I'm sorry for not writing for ages. I'm not saying this because I have any followers (aside from you two little chappies - hang in there, bredrin); but because I was disappointed in myself. I have a fruitfully boring life and should share it with the majority. Sorry, Sorry.
Anyways, back to business.
What's new with me? I answer this question in the only way I know how: BULLET POINTS! :D
:-
- I got dumped. Yeah.
- I went to France. Yeah.
- I came back and went back to work and as we speak I'm trying to be a social panther, keeping myself busy with my beautiful, sexy freinds.
I'll elaborate best I can on these bullet points. As with the first, its pretty straight forward. I got dumped. No shouting, no drama, it really is that simple. Here's the thing: because it was SO simple, it made it the most confusing break up I've ever been through. I'm sure part of me WANTS the screaming. At least I can look back and saying 'What a fucking doucher'. Not this time. I've not been granted that pleasure, and through tight lips must just suck it up and get on with shit.
As for france, then. France. You ever been to France? Its okay. I mean, its pretty, most of the time. It sells nice stuff, and the restaurants are wicked. The wines always good, no matter how little you pay, you simply don't get the piss vinegar you buy in a box here (if you aren't a student or on the dole, you won't get the last statement).
The only thing is, I got stick of speaking French. Everytime someone French speaks it sounds like they're going to be sick. There's also the whole thing about French people disliking us. I'm telling you, I nearly snapped at Calais. My dad was infront of me buying us a cheeseburger, and accidentily pulled a £20 note out to pay with. She sighed, gave him a patronising look, and said, in french 'Here, sir, this is STILL France'. I was so mad I couldn't come up with a come back, and repeated what she said, in a silly voice, which was very mature of me. Then I walked into the drinks machine, just to prove i'm on a cock on a physical level, as well as mental. One last thing about France - smells a bit like feet. But whatever. It was nice to lie on a beach and bodyboard, away from Blighty and work.
The only thing was, I needed my freinds. Its been good to get back and hang out. One person in particular has done me serious good.
I go back to University next month (YEAH) so you'll be getting blogs with much richer, drunker, better content. Me and my four freinds will be moving into our new house on Derwent, which will be very exciting.
I wanted to go back to the House tommorow, to use it as a gathering venue. My two brilliant housemates have locked my quilt in one room, and the pillows in another. They also didn't rid the fridge of its contents before they left (a bowl of angel delight, an onion, some milk, and some bread - I think its safe to say it may smell of regurgitated cheese and church fust now). I was on the phone to one of my housemates today, and she said 'You've got alot of cleaning to do'.
Exsqueese me? I knew this would happen. If I didn't like them so much I'd write 'YOU'RE DEAD' in the mould (with a fork). So I think I'm fruitlessly trying to organise a party here. God knows. I have a large bottle of vodka, and a large bottle of gin. I won't be held responsible for my actions if I don't do the right thing with those.
Just like I can't be expected to be responsible around the helium canister at work. I've already used it to call my ex-flat mate Andy who was so high it took him a good ten minutes to realise something was wrong with my voice, by which time my lungs had nearly combusted.
Anyway, I'll wrap it up for today, until tommorow, or the day after, when something more interesting may have happened. You never know. Tommorow might not be a total disaster.
Peace and biscuits.
