At 4am my house mates come home. Hopelessly drunk. In the hope that I'll get some quality entertainment I wander into the hall to find a dozen or so bodies. Only a handful of which I am acquainted. Staying up for a few more hours I enjoy the stupidity of these drunks, until it all gets a little out of hand and somehow a rubbish bin is emptied into the third lobby.
On the train on the way home I busy myself by creating a large data file on my desktop, deleting it, and then creating it again. Close the lid of my notebook and through it hap-haphazardly into my holdall (later to find that by doing so I have removed a large chunk from the keyboard.) As the train pulls into the station the I can feel the pace of life changing with the pace of the engines. Somethings never change, and home is one of them. I've planned four days of nothing. A little break.
Feeling tired from the night before I kid myself that I might try and get some sleep, of course this doesn't happen. I wake up the next morning, pack the car and drive to the city. I've made two appointments. One to get my laptop fixed, and other to get my mullet fixed.
During the interval between the two events I wonder into a book shop. Pick the first title that comes into my head and ask the cashier to find it for me, which she does. She compliments my choice and I buy it. Carrying the book down the high street I adapt it, I carry it like its my bible, the perfect compliment to my already linear, cutting outfit. Today I've chosen to wear a charming grey Diesel Polo shirt, Black River Island jeans, a giant eagel belt buckle and my Ted Classics. I use the hood of my jumper to cover my giant mullet as I sit, in a rather self obsessed manner reading on a bench amidst the bussle of the city.
During my hair appointment, my hairdresser crowns me "king of puke" after I tell her a rancid story that happened a few weeks ago, and another that happened a few nights ago in the business district of the city in which I now reside. I like this title. Perhaps it will stick.
I meet the parents, we pretend to be frightfully well-to-do and go for lunch in an art gallery. I'm not big on anything that isn't a carbohydrate at the moment (although the reason for this is beyond me) and so order a roasted vegetable pasta dish. Most of which my father eats.
I shop with my mother. I think she likes to show me off. Look at my son who choses the most delightful outfits for me. We use her credit card and I buy some new clothes. Shortly realising the charming young man who cant use a till also cant take a security tag off a shirt. So I pull it off myself, ripping the shirt as I do so.
We have coffee, I drop my parents at their car and then race them home. Yes, three people from the same family does warrant taking two cars into the city.
This is probably one of the nicest days I have it a long time.
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