Monday, May 19, 2008

Le jour, la musique est morte

So, by rights last week should have officially gone down as shit. The Music Box broke. To be fair it started cheyne stoking on Friday and I really shouldn't have been shocked when a little folder appeared on the screen when I attempted to listen to it on my way up to London at an obscenely early time on Saturday. My favourite book also fell apart in my lap on my way home from work during the week. One page fell out and then the rest fluttered to the ground like little literary butterflies. Fickle bastards. Which, dear readers, leaves me without my two favourite things. Couple this with the fact that I think I may have to steal my little sister's Music Box until I can afford a new one (She has a Creative Zen which doesn't sync up with Macs and her musical palette isn't half as discerning as mine which means I'm going to have to listen to some rare fucking shit for a while) I should really be climbing the walls with anger. However, I have been in an exceptionally good mood since Thursday for pretty much no reason whatsoever. Don't get me wrong. It hasn't been a complete bed of roses.....

We may have ascertained that I love bed, sleeping, sleep related things, bed related things, sleeping in bed etc etc. I also value my lie ins and this week I was reduced to one lie in. I was relishing my Sunday bed fest so much that I kicked Miss Tack in to the spare room (normally she sleeps with me because we love each other so) in order to maximise sleeping time. However, some complete FUCKER texted me at 10/11, times for the Sex and the City movie. In a week and half. Yeah. Pretty urgent I think you'll agree. Totally a good idea to text it to me on  Sunday. I almost threw my phone out of my bedroom window. Obviously I couldn't get back to sleep and ended up watching Shipwrecked in bed hoping it would bore me to sleep. But it didn't. And as if to add insult to injury cowtack slept in until THREE PM. 

But you know. I keep smiling because I am full of goodness and love for the world and my weekend was all lovely and pretty and hilarious and I couldn't possibly go in to it all in great details as someone would probably hate on me cos there are bare haters in the world and all that. 

I did manage to see some Bright Town residents who I've not actually seen in over two years because of their jaunts all around the world. They ended up having a bbq in the rain which strangely worked because they bought a massive gazebo marquee thing and put it up in the garden and we sat underneath it all civilised like. Although I say that. I arrived and we all had a group hug and someone shouted, "Subway! How the hell are ya?". I was a bit flustered, I'd just walked from Clapham Common passing various stabbings and ambulances on the way, I forgot myself a bit and answered candidly and maybe slightly out of turn for those present who don't know me,

"I'm alright but I've just come from pole dancing and my inner thighs feel like I've been fucking a really skinny man"

Half the room was horrified and the other half, who knew me, were delighted. 

I quickly attempted some sort of damage limitation but my efforts were in vain when Samuel strolled in shouting, 

"Hello! Last time I saw you you had a dildo hanging out of your mouth",

which technically is true. However, in my defence it was literally several years ago, it was clean (as in brand new), it had been bought as a birthday present for me and then we all got a bit too wreckheaded and everything went a bit Requiem for a Dream and I ended up with my birthday present in my mouth against my wishes whilst everyone screamed, "This is why you don't do drugs", obviously all off their faces on drugs. Good times. I digress. As usual. So yes. In order to try and preserve some dignity I reply with,

"That's fucking rich from the man ran from the farm he was working on in Spain because he was having it away with the farmer's wife". (That's true by the way) 

And thus I was welcomed back in to the bosom of the Bright Town Wanderers. Although they've settled down they still can't bear to let go of the nomadic life style and they've all bought vans. Sam's is the best though. It looks like it should be in Only Fools and Horses and is completely carpeted on the inside with a fold out bed in the back thus earning it the name the Doggingmobile. Great.

And so I look to next weekend. Friday off, four day week, get in. The most cultured lady I know also has Friday off so I'm gonna stay at hers on Thursday night and I imagine we'll do girly shit like watch The Killing Fields and chat about the way the housing market is going. Then it's off to the sea side for The Hen Night. I say night. It turns out apparently it's going to roll over in to Sunday which begs the question how long am I expected to cluck and lay eggs for exactly? I've been told that we're starting drinking at midday on Saturday (quite right) and on Sunday we're going to Brighton's biggest water fight in Preston Park. Basically they can fuck right off. It's meant to be at least 20 all weekend and I am blatantly going to lie on the beach for all of Sunday and Monday and get roasted to a crisp. Sexy, lobster red. 

Furthermore, I was told the Hen was wanting us to dress like gangsters which prompted me to piss and moan because I'd basically be going out dressed for work (The Irony. Lawyer/Gangster. They dress the same, they both extort ridiculous amounts of money out of the working class who can't really afford it....) so I decided I was going to wear my Snow White outfit but accessorise with a kaleshnakov (should I be worried that I spelt that right first time?) and a fedora and say things like, "Yeah,  you better watch out cos when Dopey works out who you are he is going to BRUCK YOU UP", but I was told that I wasn't allowed because apparently Snow White was never a gangster. I find it hard to believe. Disney was a Nazi for God's sake. But in a great twist of fate apparently we're allowed to go as Gangster's molls. 20's flapper here I come. Although I'm a bit worried about the headband/feather thing. I fear we may all end up looking like some sort of gender confused Rambo. Ah well, we'll probably all be far too fucked to care....

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