Saturday, 31 January 2009

The alarm clock is flashing 0701. Under my head is a pair of jeans. I’m fully dressed, my face covered in war paint, tv on, lights on.

I pull my belt off, scramble to the lights, smell burning, and go back to bed. At 0952 I decide I’ve slept enough. In the kitchen is a burnt chicken burger (it always seems to be chicken burgers that cause fires!) and flame marks up the wall. I’m still confused of their origin.

The only proof that I went out last night is a collection of text messages:

“this hot tub is hot and steamy?”


“I’m outside by the doors”


which I guess was supposed to say FIT, but arrived in a random order.

“My wooden spoon is on fire” which I assume I didn’t mean in a literal sense. But then I might have.I did take a wooden spoon with me?!

I also have a strange recollection of a life size polystyrene W, a lady called Clair, spelt Clare, who didn’t exists, and phoning for Clyrissa from an office that I’m pretty sure we broke into.

“Dear Clare please love me…you can find me on facebook” is not written across her desk

Overall, I suppose, it could be said that it was an ok night, on account that I didn’t fuck anyone off, or fuck anything up.

...Im supposed to have stopped drinking. But so far, I've only stopped drinking spirits.

Sunday, 25 January 2009

I'm pushing my way through a crowded dance floor. My back is stinging from being thrown against the wall. Somewhere in the night club a girl is crying. Sweat is dripping down my face and someone has a hold of my wrist.

I shake them off. Outside the air is bitter, wet, refreshing.

They are still following me, but I don't acknowledge them. As I pull my coat over my shoulders I realise that it's Mark.

"What are you doing?
"I'm going home. Fuck off. Where does she live?"
"Don't be stupid. Sit down"
"I want to go home."

The girl crying inside is H. We've been friends for years. Tonight is her birthday. But that doesn't stop her pushing me against the wall. And it doesn't stop me from threatening to hit her.

She's crying because I've just told a girl that I fucked her brother. And when this girl wouldn't leave me alone, stamping on my feet, I pushed her. And she fell on the floor. She is stupid drunk.

Apparently I "slapped her down". But let them talk.

I've probably just had this shittest, most expensive weekend that I've had in a long time. To be honest I'd written the night off from the start.

Thursday, 22 January 2009

Apparently I’ve just gone to the toilet. But I’m actually standing outside. And it’s very cold.

I figure I should probably get out of Millennium Square. But according to the bouncers I’m too drunk to be let back into the club.

I don’t like being sick, but I usually am. I’m quite famous for it.

“Don’t I know you? Aren’t you that boy-”
“-that’s always sick? Yeah”

So far tonight I’ve been ok; although I probably shouldn’t have traded some Vaseline for a shot of Tequila. It’s been touch and go ever since.

God knows what I’ve drunk since.

Anyway I eventually find myself in another club. On a boat. Another drink, another, and then another. Perhaps one more?

Now someone is pulling me across the dance floor by my ankles. It’s only in the taxi home I realise that this is my house mate.

"twenty-one pounds please young man"

So now I’m holding onto the bed. And it feels wobbly to be quite honest. So does the floor.

I stumble to the en-suite.

Sick count: five.

Friday, 16 January 2009

I have one pending friend request, on a certain social networking website. I look at this persons profile and realise it's the same request I had, and rejected, two weeks ago. A warden from our apartment complex, Ashley.

At around 1134 I am woken by my telephone ringing:

"Hi its Ashley from Quantop reception, is that ____"
"We've got a package here for you, it got delivered to the wrong block, if you
want to come and get it we're open until three...if not I'll bring it up to you...your reception later"

After a long pause

"Did I wake you up?"
"Yea. I'm hanging"

-Dial Tone-

On the front of the parcel someone has miss-typed the address, and someone else has highlighted this and written
"Best this week." next to it.