It’s been a while

So life has been building and building, and news flowing, and flowing… and now I just don’t know where to start!

Reading was amazing!
I would go into some great detail if it was the day after I got back like I had planned to do, but it’s now two weeks after that, and I just cant be bothered to write a big summary.

So here it is in short; Kings of Leon, I hate you

Not much else has happened except working, which I have been paid for without a hitch you will all be glad to know after that fiasco with transfering stores between London and Canterbury.

I finally was able to give Becca her present a little belated but I think it was okay because I spent a lot of time writting her a book as she enjoys my stories.

What else have I done? Started saying goodbyes to people before we all go away to Uni again, Will left ages ago and it’s not really that nice this coming saturday I’ll be moving back and saying goodbyes again which I am not gonna like one bit. It’s really tearing. I’m so excited for living in my own house with Conor and mates, the prospect of Uni social life excites me greatly also, and hell, I even miss the working a bit. But at the same time, I hate being so far from peoples, especially Becca. I guess it’s lucky I am only a short train journey away from home, even if slightly expensive.

Erm, Glenties are through to the finals back home, fair played to you lads. I would love to get over to see it… Might consider it…

Ah recaps are hard,  I am just gonna promise myself to update as it happens, that will be easier!

ByeBye

Oh man, I am sick of that Russian Vodka advert, sick of Confusion Girl being played 2-3 times a day on Co-op radio, and espcially sick of rude customers. That’s why this next 14 days are going to be bliss.

Ireland for the week means the only advert’s I’ll be getting is for everything main street Letterkenny or Buncrana, and who can complain about those?

Paris after just means lovely get-a-way time with the girlfriend, can I wait? No.

Last night we was all out at Tiger Tiger Leicester Square celebrating the girlfriend’s birthday and as amazing a night it was, I don’t think I have ever sweated more. Ok, I have, for sure. But it felt like I had not there and then.

No idea why anyone would want to know that but lets just deliver it as if its advice to not wear much going there. Unless you are a girl, ’cause there is an outstanding amount of perverts.

I must actually sleep soon as I am dying of getting in at 5.30am for two nights and then going to Georges to install a sound card for him in the morning, but that was all worth it as we had the most immense lunch of meat; a burger and a pork chop each. The pork chop was garnished with processed cheese, much to George’s brother’s horror but I will tell you this:

It was amazing!

This was eaten to The Premiership Years 98/99, which is definitely one of the greatest footballing seasons ever. Spot on.

So goodbye world for a little while,

and a little shout-out to the rude bitch who looked like whinny the pooh who asked me to not take all day getting her tins of custard; go get your own tins of custard, the exercise wont kill you.

Currently listening to: Sonic Youth - Washing Machine.

There’s no fucking joke coming, you are Satan’s spawn

I have to question the area I live in some times. It took me very close to an hour on the 136 from Lewisham to get to home in Downham today. A staggering 2.7 miles that is, with probably an average speed of 5mph. I could have walked faster if I wasn’t half asleep.

That’s not bothered me as such though. It was the people around me and the conversations I was overhearing.
The girl next me, very loudly, was on the phone to a friend and the gist of the conversation I happened to hear upon sitting next to her was about her beating up 2 ‘gals’ who were ‘icing up her man’. Even urban dictionary can’t tell me what to ice someone up is. The response from the friend – who was on loud speaker obviously – was:

“Isit doh?”

Yeah fam

“But isit doh?”

Yeah fam

“Isit, rah”

The young girl beside me then asked if her friend’s fight with the “skanky hos” was still on for Saturday at Kennington.
Conversation got livelier still when it was revealed  that indeed some people in question were sentenced with murder for what they did to ‘that kid’.

This girl was no older than be because of her blatent college attire and school bag and yet she gets into fights, has friends who organises fights for later dates, and also has friends in prison for murdering someone.

Well done South East London, your Satan spawn are growing up.

What are you icing on my man for rass?

Oh and then I almost forgot to mention the guy dancing, yes dancing, around Lewisham swearing to everyone in song. It would be impossible to reinact the amazingness of it on a blog online so just take my word for it. Cheers.

Knob shaped bloomer, Goody rants, and of course the most grand Grand Slam

Today I sold a bloomer that was the shape of a knob. Apparently this isn’t common as I google imaged, and all I could find was a rabbit bun (that looks a bit like a misshaped cock anyway).

5 Balled man with funny looking phallus.... Or a rabbit bun. You decide.

Just thought I’d whack that in as it amused me greatly at 8:25 in the morning. But I was easily impressed and amused today. I awoke at 7:15am for work, after getting in to my room in Canterbury from London at about midnight, to quickly find that Jade Goody had passed away. R.I.P

However, this meant for me that the papers I was about to assemble would be littered with her face, so I was not best pleased…. (Again just to note that I have more of an issue with the daily press coverage we have had of her death than her even though I am definitly not her biggest fan to say the least).

But, alas, the papers were published long before she died and I was media-goody free. I assume tomorrow will dedicate 24 pages to her life in celebration, but as long as it ends tomorrow then fine.

Now, (eagerly awaited by Rob it seems) it’s time to talk about the grandest Grand Slam seen. The deciding match between Ireland and Wales yesterday was the most thrilling, yet nerve wracking, experience i’ve been through this year. The family were congregated in the living room, Irish jerseys all round, the curtians drawn and the tv up loud. My dad – who usually refuses to even watch the games because my mum reckons she is an Ireland coach training the lads not from the touchline but from her sofa-  even was up out of his seat when Wales scored the drop goal that put them ahead by a point with 5 minutes of the clock. My mum was on the floor head sunk in her lap as she thought there was no coming back. Luckily for us all, O’Gara knocked over the drop goal which resulted in my mum cooking a fucking fantastic dinner. (Might have had something also to do with Jones missing the penalty…)

The Championship winning, Triple Crown, and Grand Slam Irish team.

But basicly, wow. Ireland in every six nations look the part till they let themselves down and mess up somewhere along the lines. This year they proved to be an amazing squad full of harmony and passion. Fair play.  Eireann go Brach!

London Town

We don’t get half terms at Uni. Well,  not official ones anyway.

I am instead blessed with the reading week (named project week for me because I do a science I think…) which is a week off lectures and classes to erm, well, erm.. What are you supposed to do, besides going home and enjoying my fantastically superior bed, enjoying my mums cooking (which was practically a Christmas dinner yesterday!), and enjoying sofas!?

There is two sides to this story however. Sometimes London doesn’t half annoy me. If it isn’t waiting an hour for a 199 to Greenwich, or little beggit Kosovan kids aged about 15 discussing the fight from last night and how “Krazy” (I can only imagine it was spelt with a “k”) got shanked and “bare of his blood was gushing.. like proper.. like bleeding blad”, then its grumpy men taking up most of the two seats that are left on the upper deck. Oh, and then getting moody and asking you “what  are you doing?” when the bus jerks and I accidentally hit his leg that is practically on top of me anyway… Sigh.

On the other hand, only on London’s DLR will you find 5 ticket officers telling rude jokes and not checking my oyster card. (The term “my” used loosely there and its actually my 15 year old brothers). Then to be proceeded by one declaring: “Ladies and gentleman… boys, and girls, hehe. I am glad to announce we have delivered, yet another, successful DLR service to Lewisham. I hope you have enjoyed your journey with us, please take ALL of your belongings with you as you depart, into, this glorious… day. Thanks again.“

Fantastic. Made mine, and probably about 50 other Londoner’s day.

Lewisham DLR station... The place where dreams come true