Purring growling fun

There are I suppose benefits to going on holiday to a remote Carribean island, I harldy need to list them here, but I will be missing one very important thing: this I must be punished for missing such an important lesson in my training to become a master swordsman. Perhaps I should be whipped with one of these?There are I suppose benefits to going on holiday to a remote Carribean island, I harldy need to list them here, but I will be missing one very important thing: this I must be punished for missing such an important lesson in my training to become a master swordsman. Perhaps I should be whipped with one of these?There are I suppose benefits to going on holiday to a remote Carribean island, I harldy need to list them here, but I will be missing one very important thing: this I must be punished for missing such an important lesson in my training to become a master swordsman. Perhaps I should be whipped with one of these?

Red Lipz

Red Lipz, originally uploaded by tombo79.

Yesterday was full of pain.
Q: When is a party not a party?
A: When nobody is having fun...

The solution to this problem is usually simply to drink more vodka, order more marching powder and crank up the Queen on the stereo. However, in extreme circumstances, no amount of substance abuse or perfectly crafted pop will lift you out of the doldrums and there is absolutely nothing for it, but to force a smile and ride out the storm until an appropriate hour when you may stagger out of the building and head for home.

Now convention would have it that, seeing as one lives but 2 minutes walk down the road, home is where one heads. But on this night, someone decides to hail a taxi and drive around looking for a McDonald's. When it transpires that even MaccyD's shuts it's doors sometimes, we then have to drive around looking for a bank machine that still has cash in it, from which to withdraw money with which to pay the taxi which eventually drops us back at home, £20 lighter in the pocket, in a considerably worse mood, and an urgent need to block the whole episode from one's memory. This is of course impossible since like most animals (excepting moths and dogs), our brains are hardwired to learn from our mistakes. That is why the whole fiasco is burned into my memory.

To really make sure that I learned my lesson though, I fell out of bed on the wrong side, walked straight into a blazing argument, suffered an huge injection of guilt while watching the flat being cleaned around me. To assuage the guilt, and get some fresh air. I then sweated and brawled my way around M&S, returning on a very wobbly scooter, to cleared air and a pleasant evening's cozy hanging-over.

As for Friday's good intention list? I managed to read a good book.

Er... that's it.

Now all I have to show for 2days off work is a photo of me wearing smudged red lippy. If it weren't for the naive hope that next weekend will be different, next weekend will be productive, I'd be really depressed...

Unpublished post, hiding in drafts folder for unknown length of time

Yesterday was full of pain.
Q: When is a party not a party?
A: When nobody is having fun...

The solution to this problem is usually simply to drink more vodka, order more marching powder and crank up the Queen on the stereo. However, in extreme circumstances, no amount of substance abuse or perfectly crafted pop will lift you out of the doldrums and there is absolutely nothing for it, but to force a smile and ride out the storm until an appropriate hour when you may stagger out of the building and head for home.

Now convention would have it that, seeing as one lives but 2 minutes walk down the road, home is where one heads. But on this night, someone decides to hail a taxi and drive around looking for a McDonald's. When it transpires that even MaccyD's shuts it's doors sometimes, we then have to drive around looking for a bank machine that still has cash in it, from which to withdraw money with which to pay the taxi which eventually drops us back at home, £20 lighter in the pocket, in a considerably worse mood, and an urgent need to block the whole episode from one's memory. This is of course impossible since like most animals (excepting moths and dogs), our brains are hardwired to learn from our mistakes. That is why the whole fiasco is burned into my memory.

To really make sure that I learned my lesson though, I fell out of bed on the wrong side, walked straight into a blazing argument, suffered an huge injection of guilt while watching the flat being cleaned around me. To assuage the guilt, and get some fresh air. I then sweated and brawled my way around M&S, returning on a very wobbly scooter, to cleared air and a pleasant evening's cozy hanging-over.

As for Friday's good intention list? I managed to read a good book.

Er... that's it.

Where were you while we were getting high?

Where were you while we were getting high?, originally uploaded by tombo79.

From here at my desk, I can see the darkening sky, streaked with rain.
By the sallow glow of dimmed lights in the offices across the road, I
can see overfed worker ants whiling away the last couple of hours of
the working day. There is a sadness to Fridays; as the hangovers,
headaches, broken hearts, stolen handbags and vomit-stained shoes that
will have shaken our realities by Monday, draw inevitably closer. Above
London a thick cloud of anticipation forms - 10 million prayers to the
god of weekend. Some people will be drinking, some will be dining in
fine restaurants, others will self-harm by going to Ikea. Me? I'm just
hoping the rain stops long enough for me to get home without getting
soaked.

Things to do this weekend:
Eat healthy
Do yoga
Be frugal
Watch a good film
Read - a book, not just magazines
Work on screenplay
Avoid excessive partying
Ditto alcohol and other refinements
Listen to Radio 4
Make major career-changing decision.

Let's give me a score out of 10 on Monday then, shall we?

Don't stop me now!

Don't stop me now!, originally uploaded by tombo79.

Don’t stop me now…


“I’m having such a good time…
I’m having a ball!”

(Everybody now…)


1 very stressful week – (old flatmates + narcotics x alcohol) ÷ Queens Greatest hits = This.


There is a moment at which you lose your inhibitions, a point after you’ve lost contact with everything that went before – work, bills, stress – and before you begin to feel sleepy and/or sick. At this point, nothing exists but the pure moment of living. You are balanced; without a past or future you are truly present. That moment for me, happened at about 4am on Saturday morning.

The journey up to this point is usually enjoyable, but compromised by the conscious effort to ‘have fun’. Everything after this moment moves towards droopy eyelids, horizontalness, pillows, and the necessary evacuation from the body of toxins. But right now, none of that matters because you are alive, and you are probably singing.

Shortly after this photo was taken, I staggered to my feet and decided that it would soon be time to go to bed.

Eez theez you?

Eez theez you?, originally uploaded by tombo79.

hallo,

is this foto you or your friend? i meet you and limp-drunk friend with many scarf, friday night and promise to put photo on internet for you. well, here is.
sorry, but, i don't remember your names or e-mails. but you talk like thees.

and you, meester beardy-weirdy, you can stop flirting with my girlfriend, hokay? good.

living in a box

I remeber when I was a kid walking past 'Cardboard City' in the South Bank complex, before they kicked out all the homeless people and built an Imax. Despite the ovbious drawbacks to having a carboard house in the middle of London - (fire hazard, little sound insulation, definately not piss or puke-resistant) I did see the appeal of box-living. Don't like the new neighbors? Move your box. Drunk twats keep pissing on you while you're asleep? move your box. Council facists giving you grief? Move your damn box.

At the other end of the live-in-a-box market is the Loft Cube. It has none of the drawbacks of an actual cardboard box, and comes with fabulous extras like a hot tub, and designer bathroom. Of course, if your box is card, you can just pick it up and move it wherever you like. To move your loftcube, you need a fucking helicopter. But other than that it's sweet.

Right, I'm off to find the caretaker of a tall building in the City, then I'll bribe him for the roof, order my cube; and like that, I'll stick 2 fingers up to the stupid, shitty housing prices in London.