The advantage of BOREDOM...
... is that it inspires me to do crazy things, like post on this here blog.
Sat at home alone listening to some obscenely loud rock music courtesy of The Wildhearts. Bron was with me but she dashed away suddenly an hour ago, late for some class or other, bolting through the door in a blur of purple hair and knitted scarf, like some strange mesh of Cinderella and the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.
So, solitude. In fact, it's nice every now and then just to have the run of the flat. I could do anything. I could watch dvds in my jim jams. I could sit brazenly biting my own toenails on the living room sofa. I could run round the house butt naked and growl at things. I won't, but I could, and that's what counts.
A nice day had though. For some reason previous occupiers of this crazy flat of ours have seen fit to use it as an inpromtu storage depot and Bron, who has been systematically slapping our sorry asses into shape since moving in, finally snapped and decided we should load her car with old tvs and such and dump them. So off to the tip we went, followed by a pub lunch to reward ourselves for our proaction.
Bron took the opportunity to fill the space we had made with her stuff. Slowly but surely, she is taking over the whole flat. Left to her own devices, the world itself may be at risk. We can stop her now if we stand together. Before it is too late...
In other news, I've stopped smoking! Not for any namby pamby, "cough cough oh it's a filthy habit how can you cough cough" reasons, but simply for fiscal reasons. It's money better spent on other things. I do enjoy a smoke and I may have the occasional social one...ahem...but it's costing me at least £20-25 a week and I'm a poor impoverished artist.
Bron, of course, is delighted and has, in keeping with her self appointed role of surrogate mother to the whole house, been bombarding me with, "You're doing the right thing", and, "You'll feel the benefit", type platitudes. ALL F*CKING DAY.
Or maybe it wasn't all day. Maybe she barely mentioned it at all. I'm so crabby and wound up at the moment, what with my nicotine abstinence, that she could look at me the wrong way and I'd accuse her of hating/patronising/insulting me. Factor into it that she is in the "sensitive" stage of her womanly cycle and the situation is a veritable powder keg. Earlier, we had a blazing row because I put some boxes down wrong. Or something. Later I had the nerve to suggest some improvements to a form on her computer, which apparently I did with all the subtlety and tact of a professor condescending a half-wit. I thought I was being helpful. Apparently I was just being a tw*t.
Oh well, this is often the way with people you live with. It doesn't matter how much you like them (and Bron and I are the best of friends), quite often familiarity can breed some degree of contempt. The closer you get to someone, the more you tread on each other's toes. If you fly close for long enough, you'll clip wings. And several more tired bullsh*t cliches.
It's ok. I'll make it up to her with a cheese supper on her return. Cheese to Bron is like the elixir of life itself. I swear that if, heaven forbid, she is ever in a coma, all I'd need to bring her round is a really strong parmesan.
Speaking of supper, there's a belly pork joint in the fridge with my name on. Crackling makes everything better...
Peace X
Sat at home alone listening to some obscenely loud rock music courtesy of The Wildhearts. Bron was with me but she dashed away suddenly an hour ago, late for some class or other, bolting through the door in a blur of purple hair and knitted scarf, like some strange mesh of Cinderella and the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.
So, solitude. In fact, it's nice every now and then just to have the run of the flat. I could do anything. I could watch dvds in my jim jams. I could sit brazenly biting my own toenails on the living room sofa. I could run round the house butt naked and growl at things. I won't, but I could, and that's what counts.
A nice day had though. For some reason previous occupiers of this crazy flat of ours have seen fit to use it as an inpromtu storage depot and Bron, who has been systematically slapping our sorry asses into shape since moving in, finally snapped and decided we should load her car with old tvs and such and dump them. So off to the tip we went, followed by a pub lunch to reward ourselves for our proaction.
Bron took the opportunity to fill the space we had made with her stuff. Slowly but surely, she is taking over the whole flat. Left to her own devices, the world itself may be at risk. We can stop her now if we stand together. Before it is too late...
In other news, I've stopped smoking! Not for any namby pamby, "cough cough oh it's a filthy habit how can you cough cough" reasons, but simply for fiscal reasons. It's money better spent on other things. I do enjoy a smoke and I may have the occasional social one...ahem...but it's costing me at least £20-25 a week and I'm a poor impoverished artist.
Bron, of course, is delighted and has, in keeping with her self appointed role of surrogate mother to the whole house, been bombarding me with, "You're doing the right thing", and, "You'll feel the benefit", type platitudes. ALL F*CKING DAY.
Or maybe it wasn't all day. Maybe she barely mentioned it at all. I'm so crabby and wound up at the moment, what with my nicotine abstinence, that she could look at me the wrong way and I'd accuse her of hating/patronising/insulting me. Factor into it that she is in the "sensitive" stage of her womanly cycle and the situation is a veritable powder keg. Earlier, we had a blazing row because I put some boxes down wrong. Or something. Later I had the nerve to suggest some improvements to a form on her computer, which apparently I did with all the subtlety and tact of a professor condescending a half-wit. I thought I was being helpful. Apparently I was just being a tw*t.
Oh well, this is often the way with people you live with. It doesn't matter how much you like them (and Bron and I are the best of friends), quite often familiarity can breed some degree of contempt. The closer you get to someone, the more you tread on each other's toes. If you fly close for long enough, you'll clip wings. And several more tired bullsh*t cliches.
It's ok. I'll make it up to her with a cheese supper on her return. Cheese to Bron is like the elixir of life itself. I swear that if, heaven forbid, she is ever in a coma, all I'd need to bring her round is a really strong parmesan.
Speaking of supper, there's a belly pork joint in the fridge with my name on. Crackling makes everything better...
Peace X
posted by Ben Schofield at 7:19 PM
1 Comments:
RARGH!...
*sniff*
chocolate
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