weird cunt

Many Mosaics

2011-10-29T02:09:00.002+01:00

Compare an atom with an orange,

Consider a river of cargo,

Suspend a thimble in your thoughts,

Eat a mouse's sugary tail,

Lose the last digit,

Participate, precipitate.

Absolve your feathery anxieties,

Sharpen the leopard's skin,

Ignore trigonometry,

The cracking of a quail egg,

Re-route magnetic fields,

Lennon's leniency.

Lost in mace,

Decipher your hoof,

Crackling cider and the river Mersey,

Glaring lily pads threaten,

Acne, TNT and a red shed,

Saline saturates.

Spiralling mutilated beetle legs,

Memory, rust, lantern,

Rhythmic ache,

Sparkle delight,

Listless onion purée,

Many mosaics.

Take It With A Pinch Of Salt

2011-05-23T14:02:00.001+01:00

I was sat in an American diner, chomping down some French Fries that tasted somewhat tasteless, when I realised that you have to take everything with a pinch of salt.

The waitress was elegantly poised as she explained to me how the ‘moist’ and ‘unrefined’ qualities of the prestigious Grey Salt she was about to give to me would guarantee an enjoyable end to my stay at the B&B. I fingered the salt curiously, before clenching a small clump in my hand and spreading it over the plate of food.

When the waitress left, with a gleeful expression beaming from her high cheekbones, I began to think about the article that had kept me awake the previous night. It told me that I had just over a year left to live, that the world was coming to an abrupt ending on December 21st 2012. I spent the entire journey home researching the cosmic phenomenon on my iPhone.

I learnt that 21st December 2012 is the end date of a 5,125 year-long cycle in the Mesoamerican long count calendar, a dating system used by the ancient Mayans. This date is believed to mark a transition within humanity as a whole: a physical or spiritual transformation: a shift in global consciousness that could lead to a more enlightened presence on earth for the human population.

One new-age writer, Daniel Pinchbeck, claims in his book 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl, that ‘materialism and the rational, empirical worldview that comes with it has reached its expiration date,’ he suggests that these pragmatic traits will be replaced by more ‘intuitive, mystical and shamanic,’ qualities. And to a certain extent, I’ve come to agree with him.

I spent a few weeks investigating the myriad of theories surrounding 2012, whilst munching away at bags and bags of salt’n’shake potato crisps. I found myself baffled by the complete lack of rationality, logic, and empiricism that dominated the discourse. I read a series of theories that, quite comprehensively, lined the spectrum of lunacy.

At first my exploration only led me to mild conjectures. Apparently a powerful ‘solar maximum’ would take place in 2012 and the excessive heat as our orbit brought us closer to the sun would cause the surface of the earth to melt, thus signalling the end of humanity.

This seemed viable to me, of course if we were closer to the sun the heat would be greater and if the change was drastic then the implications for us could be horrific. I phoned up my parents, my friends, and even my ex-girlfriends to tell them about my dangerous discovery. I was thoroughly distressed. Most of them seemed strangely apathetic to my warnings, with only my Uncle Gary even making the effort to ask me how I knew all of this. He told me to phone him back when I could verify the catastrophe with scientific knowledge.

However no such phone call was made. I learned from the U.S National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration that the 2012 solar maximum is predicted to be ‘below-average’ in terms of irradiation, the weakest since 1928, and that it could even occur after December 21st and in fact take place in the spring of 2013.

After this scare I found myself craving cured meats and smoked cheeses as I carried on my study of the year 2012.
The next theory I looked into suggested that some kind of planetary alignment will create a combined gravitational effect between the Sun and a supermassive black hole in the middle of our galaxy, called Sagittarius A*. However I don’t think the author of this theory, Lauren Mora, will have gotten too many A* grades in Science at school seeing as the black hole she talks of is 30,000 light years away form earth and would have to be 6 million times closer to our solar system to have any gravitational effect, according to professors at the University of California.

I thought I was growing accustomed to the scaremongering and inaccuracies of the apocalyptic theories after systematically ruling out the chances of solar storms, magnetic pole reversals, earthquakes, supervolcanoes and photon belts by doing a bit of scientific reading behind the ideas. I felt like my capacity to be shocked had been saturated like salt in brine. That was until I discovered some of the more outlandish theories.

I was casually sipping on a glass of margarita when I came across a theory that shocked me into spitting out a mouthful all over the computer screen. As I wiped away the gritty green liquid I read about how a computer program called the Web Bot has predicted that a cataclysmic event will devastate the planet in 2012. The program, that is created by Clif High and George Ure, who call themselves ‘The Time Monks’, analyses ‘Internet chatter’ and shifts in ‘emotional tension’ to generate predictive reports of the future. It was not the idea of the end of the world that shocked me—I had just read a handful of apocalyptic predictions— but the ejection of my margarita was fuelled solely by my incredulity at the thought of such an idea receiving any kind of scientific credence.

I began to worry about the state of the world. A world where data on the Internet was being used to sell people bogus predictions of the future. It seemed like maybe Daniel Pinchbeck’s proposition was coming true, that rationality and empiricism were being replaced by mysticism and occultism. I relined my glass with an extra thick helping of crunchy sea salt as I contemplated a future where such absurdities were heralded as truth.

Another bizarre proposal that knocked me for six is Nancy Lieder’s story of how she was contacted by grey extraterrestrials called ‘Zetas’ in her childhood. She supposes that these alien beings implanted a communications device in her brain to contact her from the Zeta Reticuli star system, and that in 1995 they warned her of earth’s imminent collision with a large planetary object called ‘Nibriu’. The collision was originally pencilled in for May 2003 but Lieder has since aligned the apocalyptic clash with the 2012 phenomenon.

Scientists from NASA have repeatedly refuted the claim that a planet ‘four times the size of earth’ could exist within our solar system without, one: being seen, and two: effecting the orbits of the other planets. Astronomer Mike Brown notes that for ‘Nibriu’ to have no gravitational effect on the planets in the solar system it would have to be 1000 times further away than the distance between the earth and the sun (1000 Astronomical units) and that if ‘Nibriu’ were to travel that distance in less than two years, as Lieder purports, it would need to be moving at 2400 km/s which is faster than the galactic escape velocity. ‘At that speed, any object would be shot out of the solar system, and then out of the Milky Way galaxy into intergalactic space.’
Even though they are based on sound scientific knowledge, impossible assertions such as Brown’s that the planet ‘Nibriu’ would be expelled from our galaxy into intergalactic space, seem equally farcical to me as the bogus theories they are designed to debunk.

But little did I know there was still one more level of lunacy to go before the 2012 scale of insanity was to be completed.
Spiritual teacher and New Age author Terence McKenna proposes a theory so preposterous that I was moved to pinch myself with a pair of sharp pliers and fill up my bath tub with sea salt in an attempt to replicate The Dead Sea and cleanse my mind, body, and soul from the intellectually debasing content of his work.

McKenna’s 2012 theory is underscored by his love of psychedelic drugs, especially psilocybin-containing mushrooms and DMT. His ‘Stoned Ape’ hypothesis of human evolution suggests that as our primate ancestors moved from living in trees to open grasslands and savannas near the end of the most recent ice age they began to feast on psilocybin-containing mushrooms, and that this helped them acquire selective evolutionary advantages over other species that did not eat the mushrooms. He states that the effects of psilocybin, such as increased sexual arousal and ecstatic hallucinations were advantageous to the early humans as it encouraged the ‘development of spoken language in order to form pictures in another persons mind through the use of vocal sounds.’

In a similar vein of fashion McKenna attempted to use psychoactive drugs to better his understanding of humanity and the mysteries of the universe. He believed the drugs opened the mind up for ‘trans-dimensional travel’ and could enable him to communicate with spiritual ancestors and omniscient beings.

These drug induced unworldly affairs led him to discover how the story of the universe is simply the story of the ‘proton matter wave’s 13.7-billion-year-long fall into its own gravitational field.’ With some spurious references to Einstein and de Broglie he claims that on December 21st 2012 the wait will be over for the proton matter and the universe will be completed for eternity. He purports that we will enter into ‘Timewave Zero,’ a phenomenon that allows everybody to travel around the universe at the speed of light infinitely and timelessly, forever. The universe will reach ‘a singularity of infinite complexity, at which point anything and everything imaginable will occur simultaneously.’
The plot thickens…

This is all made possible by the tantric union of the world’s two most imaginative people with the hyperspace of the universe’s information, which he calls ‘The Superconducting Overmind.’ Humanity is condensed into one unitary being of interconnectedness, which leads to the human species taking complete psychokinetic control over the universe, ‘That is the ultimate goal of the universe’s existence.’

This was the point of no return for me. It sealed the deal. ‘Intuition, shamanism and a profound sensitivity towards the mystic’ has replaced ‘Empiricism, pragmatism, and rationality.’ But somehow, concurrent to Pinchbeck’s prediction, materialism still lives on.

Most of the writers I have mentioned are wealthy and successful in their own fields of study. It proves that there is a market for mysticism, and who knows, maybe the shift in consciousness has started a little earlier than expected. Maybe humanity is on the cusp of a spiritual evolution.

But of course, as I am telling you this, it is important for me to point out that I am spreading a small pinch of table salt all over my plate of mushroom risotto.

The Royal Wedding 2011

2011-05-09T23:30:00.001+01:00

At 11:20 AM on Friday 29th April 2011, the Archbishop of Canterbury pronounced Prince William and Catherine Middleton man and wife. It was a momentous moment, not just for the monarchy, but for the entire nation and dare I suggest it, the rest of the world too. The wonderful union between these two most-gracious young lovers represents a coalition between the monarch and the general public. And as I drunk a pint of Skinner’s ‘Kate Loves Willy’ Ale, I truly felt a speck of regality emanate through my body. I was proud.

Millions of people swarmed around the palace gates like wasps around a juicy looking ice-lolly in the sun. Some particularly patriotic commoners gathered in their small communities, sporting union jack flags and Will and Kate masks, they pitched their tents several days before the ceremony took place in a gallant effort to ensure a prime view of the event. These earnest royal subjects will undoubtedly pass down the story of how they procured the most intimate view of the royal kiss for generations to come, their grandchildren and great-grandchildren will take enormous delight in knowing that somebody in their family once saw Prince William’s lips touch Princess Kate’s from the tender distance of 50 metres.

‘Isn’t it a magnificent sight’ Huw Edward reported for the BBC, as Prince William sat next to Princess Kate on the luxurious State Landau during the royal procession. The lavish carriage was pulled along by four thoroughbred stallions, and in its pure grandness, it eclipsed even the magical carriage that Cinderella’s fairy Godmother made for her from a rotten pumpkin.

Given the weight of the situation one would be forgiven for letting the pressure affect his charm, but the Prince was on top form, quoted by The Guardian and backed up by professional lip-reader Tina Lannin, as telling his newly-wed wife ‘You look beautiful’. So articulate, so concise and so original—majestic lines such as this are what separate the royals from the likes of me, you, and the general public. We can only thank journalists and members of the media conglomerations for bringing us little snippets of captivating insight into the lives of our superiors, with such cutting urgency and punctuality.

The transformation from commoner to regality for Kate Middleton was complimented by an amazing piece of knitwear: an ivory white satin silk gown, created by Sarah Burton, Head Designer at the House of Alexander McQueen. A confidentiality agreement had been signed that kept the dress as secretive as the princess was formerly chaste. So when the dress was finally unveiled to the world as she stepped out of the royal Rolls Royce, it was no surprise to hear a BBC fashion expert let out a high-pitched shriek of ‘YAY’, echoing profoundly the exact joy of a whole nation looking on at the dress with glee.

The jubilation and goodwill was not confined to the Great British Isles exclusively, the event received worldwide publication and quite rightly monopolized the cable and terrestrial networks in the United States. There was even a makeshift ‘street’ party held in the Helmand province of Afghanistan by the proud British troops. The Afghani affair featured flags, music, cake and a brilliantly formed life-sized cardboard cutout of the Royal couple themselves. ‘It was a wonderful day, Kate looked beautiful and we had been so looking forward to seeing her dress.’ Commented Captain Clare Brooks who usually spends her time inspecting packages and scouring the landscape for improvised explosive devices.

The spectacle of the event surpassed all other distractions. Street parties brought people together. Labour and Tory politicians shared cups of tea from the same Will and Kate ceramic teapots; students taught local residents how to skateboard; terminally ill patients nodded their heads and smiled with a long lost twinkle in their eyes; everybody was happy that the British monarchy was succeeding. ‘With all the bad things in the word at the moment, its nice to come together, forget about them, have fun and just be British.’ The sentiments of a conscientious citizen reveling in the achievement of a wealthy heir to the throne finding himself a beautiful woman to marry on the 66th anniversary of Adolf Hitler’s marriage to Eva Braun.

Of course there will always be some blasphemous spoilsports who refuse to acknowledge the true value of the monarch, labeling them as fetishized puppets of public affection, tax-dodging time-wasters, or archaic throwbacks to our shameful past of slavery, sexual discrimination and colonial exploitation. Some sacrilegious dissidents will always make grandiloquent claims, such as the holy matrimony is a ‘Wedding of Mass Distraction’ or that the money should be spent on education, the NHS or welfare rather than a jumped-up media celebration of an antiquated oligarchy.

These bitter invectives, and a desecrating offer made by Vivid Entertainment’s Steve Hirsch, for Kate’s exquisite sister Pippa to feature in a pornographic film for $5 million aside, the royal wedding was a tremendous success. It re-united the loving public with a unique historical figure of majesty and allowed a society that was growing progressively aware of current affairs and critical of its own foreign policy, to take a much-deserved day off and forget about the many evils of this world.

APATHY RATING: *****/ *****

foxxy - PREVIEW

2011-01-08T03:53:00.003Z

I had been working as a pizza boy for about two years when it started. I used to turn up everyday at six o’clock, quickly change my t-shirt, stick the stupid cap on my head and walk into the store to sign in. I was always careful to keep my hands in my pockets at all times when in the store because they had this annoying rule about bare wrists. The problem was I had this tattoo from when I was back in college, it was ‘Mary’ my childhood sweetheart written in a tasteless gothic font on a peculiar looking Labrador, and it was emblazoned on the underside of my wrist. We used to have a little joke about her being a dog, say if we went into a posh shop or to the beach between the 1st of May and the 31st of September, I would point at the ‘no dogs’ sign and look at her disapprovingly and she would giggle and shake her head in that ‘you-think-you’re-so-funny-but-it’s-okay-because-I-guess-I-do-too’ sort of way.

I thought it would be cute to get the tattoo but my ‘incessant jealousy’ and ‘wandering eyes’ proved the perfect antidote to my charming humour, leaving me with a trophy of failure on my wrist. To hide this inconvenient truth I tried wearing sweatbands, but they used to get all mouldy and smelly if I didn’t take them off for bathing and showers – and taking them off for such occasions proved even more horrific as I was faced with the dog – and there is nothing worse than reminding yourself that you’ve got something to hide. So I decided to go to a few shitty festivals to get some wristbands that had a sense of permanency about them.

The one that stuck was from a hippy festival in Newton Abbot called ‘Quest’. All I can remember of the festival is taking this anonymous pill from a guy dressed up as Jesus Christ, and from then on my mood was dictated by this great big tower that had a searchlight that changed colour as it span around the field. The colours acted to dictate my mood: if it was bright and yellow I would feel ecstatic and if it was dark and navy: I would get twitchy and unsure of myself. In the morning the yellow wristband reminded me of the electric energy I had felt the night before. And the name ‘Quest’ coupled with the Jesus guy who gave me the pill, inspired me to search for God, and gave me hope of maybe finding more to life and potentially fulfilling some kind of unheard of spiritual bliss. But by the end of the day I started to come down and realized that this enlightenment was in fact, part of the trip.

But anyway, I stuck with the wristband to cover up the tattoo the same way a cutter would do, to hide their scars - sometimes I would even let people think I was a cutter, if it proved less embarrassing than admitting the truth – anything to avoid showing that dastardly dog. So when I was told that ‘Franchise policy dictates all employees adhere strictly to the uniform code’ and found out that in order to deliver pizza to somebody’s house at night it was necessary to ‘be cleanly shaven, piercing free and bare wristed’ I was quite understandably indignant. I mean who really gives a fuck when they’re stoned, drunk and hungry – ‘cos that’s the only time that I order a pizza – if the guy stood outside in the cold wearing a mojo-shattering blue hat has a bit of stubble or a festival armband saying ‘Quest’ on it. When I’m desperate enough to pay twelve quid for a pizza I don’t care if it gets delivered by Grizzly Adams and his forest-face, Snoop Dogg and his plethora of bling, or even Dick Dastardly and the unkempt Mutley. It just doesn’t matter.

At the beginning of my first shift, I was sent to the toilet with a bic two-blade razor and the cold-water tap. I went in looking handsome as ever and came out all cut up with red patches and rogue hairs scattered around my face. They said I looked a lot better.

But then they told me I would have to cut off my wristband before I could start earning any dosh. My initial reaction was to bullshit. I started itching my neck along the collar where I could feel a spot swelling up from the massacre of the bic, and I told my supervisor how important the quest for God was in my life. I explained how cutting free the band would symbolically sever my own spiritual bond with Jesus Christ and told him how damaging that could be to my emotional wellbeing. He bought it. Or at least he was too weary to argue with it, and said that I could wear the band just this once, but in future it would have to be covered up by a watch; either that or I would be ineligible to work for them.

I didn’t own a watch and I was not prepared to pay for one out of my own pocket to conform to this officious code – but at the same time I was growing increasingly anxious at the idea of exposing my wrist and the tattoo – so I resorted to stealing a spy watch from my little sister. It didn’t tell the time but it did have a little plastic hatch that you could open up. I didn’t really understand what its purpose was: I wondered whether it was supposed to harbour miniature laser beams to blind villains with, or to set off remotely controlled mines in times of crisis, but ultimately, I concluded it was just a toy.

Sometimes I would forget the spy watch. It could get left at home or in a jacket pocket or at a mate’s house by an ashtray. And sometimes I would neglect to shave: if I hadn’t washed in a while or if my mum was having a bath at the wrong time or something. The threat of the bic and of unleashing the beast under my wrist was of great concern to me. I would carefully slip in and out of the building between deliveries, vigilantly avoiding eye contact with any of the supervisors, because I came to realize that nobody actually cares about rules, they just care about power. So if you don’t directly challenge their power, if you keep out of their way, then most of the time you can get away with a few little discrepancies.

Another benefit of minimizing my time in the store each night was avoiding my ‘colleagues’. Although some of them were alright, for example, the twins with cheap Mazda sports cars who planned to open their own pizza place in Australia, the Spanish manager with a lust for olives but a lack of English skills and the Polish chef who would shamelessly smoke bongs outside the backdoor, but these were the exceptions. The majority of the staff were unfunny no-hopers, constantly participating in ‘banter’ and laughing profusely at their own jokes. I don’t mean to appear judgmental but I had a real problem identifying with people who were content to grow fat and old delivering pizzas and sticking new exhausts onto the backs of their cars. I was aiming for better than that.

I’ve always wanted to make films. As I was growing up I would always tell Mary about my ideas, they would come to me when we were lying in bed or taking a day trip on the train, and I would get all excited relaying my thoughts to her. She would listen in awe and tell me how good the ideas were and encourage me to plot the narratives in this little notebook called a pukka pad. The thing is I would write down the flashes of ideas, fleeting elements of films but I would never develop them, never put any hard graft into them. I was always too busy trying to get my dick wet or watching films that had already been made on DVD.

After we split a couple of years ago I would still carry the pukka pad around with me in my car, but it would rarely feel the pleasure of being written in. I needed the encouragement. Any ideas that I had would just get eroded by the radio, or by a traffic jam, or by an unhappy customer who had asked for no pepperoni. By the time I had finished my shift I was always too hungry and tired to search through my brain for the fragments of films that had played behind my eyes while I was driving. To my dismay I found myself resigned to being a delivery boy. For the time being. I would tell myself.

*************************************

So there I was half eleven on a Friday evening, driving to a residential trailer park to deliver three cheese and tomato pizzas with my spy watch on. As I approached the driveway I spotted the park mascot: it was a life-size wooden fox, orange with bright blue eyes and the word ‘Welcome’ scribed across its stomach inside a sparkling sunshine orb. This image of happiness unsettled me a little bit. I shone my full beam and squinted out of the window until I found number thirteen Sunnyvale Lane. I parked up, and took the pizzas out of the hot bag ready for the customer. I knocked on the door but there was no answer. This was normal. I waited half a minute and knocked again, much harder this time. Again, no answer. I was used to this type of thing, sometimes people would take ages to reply and then just rush to the door with a towel on, messy hair and a flush. I assumed that ordering a pizza worked in the same way as oysters or as Lynx would have you believe their scent works: to make women horny. If I was lucky I’d get a little nip slip, but more often than not, I was just treated to a bouncing ballbag as the guy turned to run back to his pizza-enchanted mistress.

After about five minutes of banging on the door and wailing ‘PIZZA BOY, IT’S YOUR PIZZZZZAAAA BOY’ reminiscent of Jim Carey in The Cable Guy, I was getting seriously pissed off. I got back in my car turned the light on and rung the ‘customer’s number’. As I was typing in the digits: ‘01626 2829-Wait a minute’. It dawned on me that this was the number for sexline, all those prank phone calls me and Mary used to make about fornicating with elephants and acidic discharge, how did I not see this earlier. I was furious at whoever this little prick was that set me up. Nobody orders shitty cheese and tomato pizzas. I revved my engine and jerked the volume up on the CD player: ‘You made me forget my dreams’ Fucking Belle and Sebastian. This was not the time for them. I was growing more and more disgruntled as I encountered that fox mascot again. In a moment of madness I stopped the car, ran towards the fox, picked up a metal pole – the kind of shit that prank-calling-trailer-trash-people leave lying around – and went for the fox’s head. After three wild blows, the neck snapped and the head drooped down slowly. I felt like a naughty beaver. I felt that overpowering sense of guilt I used to feel instantly after ejaculating inside another girl when I was with Mary. I deemed it most sensible to wrench the head free from its torso and place it in the back of my car on the parcel shelf.

For the next few shifts I was haunted by the fox. It would reflect onto the back windscreen, and appear ominously in my rearview mirror as some kind of ethereal apparition.

I guess I must have felt responsible for the fox, because I was intrigued to look after him – I was quite sure from his rigid posture when he had a body, that he was a male fox – it was some kind of twisted Stockholm Syndrome, but reversed and with a wooden ornament.

So for a few weeks me and the fox would ride around town together delivering pizzas and surveying the streets. We delivered to drunk students, who flirted with me and asked to stroke my fox; we delivered to fat single men who left us large tips for not laughing at the number of pizza boxes piled up behind their doors; we delivered to families who answered graciously and offered me slices of pizza; we delivered to buildings with broken buzzers that rung the wrong flat; we delivered to houses with no numbers that took ages to find and we delivered to some houses that had nothing notable to say about them.

Although I was happy to have the fox on the parcel shelf, I don’t really think it had started yet. I suppose it had started in a way but I wasn’t aware of it.

One thing for sure, the evening that I met the fox, it had definitely started. It was just a normal shift at work, I had remembered to shave, and I also had the spy watch on my wrist. I was listening to some weak hip-hop on the radio and my heater was trying its best to clear the windscreen of pizza fumes, although I was defenseless against the pizza scent. It was about eleven o’clock and I had nothing planned after work apart from a lonely wank and small garlic bread I had smuggled into my boot. So I wasn’t even counting down the hours, they just travelled past me like the curb at the side of the road. Well anyway this eleven o’clock jobby proved a bit more significant than I could have guessed. 36 Starcross Street. The fox answered the door. Yes the very same fox that I had decapitated a few weeks earlier had answered the door. Well it can’t have been the same fox, but a carbon copy of the head that I was carrying in the back of my car. I glanced at one fox head and then at the other. I was astonished. He was about six foot tall, so just a little bit taller than me, with the same white whiskers I had become accustomed to that resembled the stubble around Homer Simpson’s mouth. He was fluffy all over and wore the same wide grin that had infuriated me so much during my first encounter. I wondered if I was imagining all this, an elaborate scheme devised in my subconscious to keep me entertained at work, so I touched him on the arm, and to my surprise he was real. Soft and furry. ‘Sorry!?’ said the fox. I was surprised by how human his voice sounded. I looked at the sticker and he had paid by card so I gave him his pizza. He turned around and shut the door on me. I stood still for an immeasurable amount of time before getting my shit together and getting back into the car. He was looking at me out of his window. I turned the car around and in doing so I reversed up against the fox’s front room and for a split second the reflection of the wooden fox in my rear windscreen merged together perfectly with the real fox staring out of the window. It was the kind of moment that would be turned into slow motion in a film.

I went home that night and called Mary for the first time in months but she didn’t answer.

The fox played on my mind. I dreamt about a cream-coloured country home surrounded by forest and separated from the rest of the world by a grand ornamental gate. In the gravel driveway a man with a tweed sports jacket and a hunting cap on was pacing in front of his tall arching doorway looking very animated. Then all of a sudden the fox appeared from a clearing in the thicket, he was running on all fours this time and he looked a lot more vulnerable than I had seen him before. The agitated aristocrat reached for his shotgun and raised it towards the woods. He let off a few bangs before exclaiming: ‘RELEASE THE HOUNDS’. Two posh-looking men in similar hunting gear came running from the front door and stood by his side. As they all loaded up their shotguns three humongous dogs, slightly larger than horses, came bustling from around the back of the house. The beast-hounds stopped for their hunters to mount, and then let off a blood curdling howl and set off for the fox. The same fox that I had beheaded, and then delivered a pizza to.

I woke up confused, firstly because I had an erection after such a shocking dream, and secondly because I felt almost culpable for the terrorizing of the fox at the hands of the hunters. I was horrified to compare what I did with a piece of wood to the brutal murder of a miraculously large vulpine creature, but for some reason I couldn’t separate the two crimes. I felt guilt running through my veins and vowed to be a better person before tossing myself off back to sleep.

The next day at work I had to deal with the usual drivel that goes around the store when its quiet, one of my supervisors was telling everybody about his latest sexual antics and naturally, all the lads joined in, pelvic thrusts and fingers in their mouths. The female staff stood back quietly, trying to blend into the walls, in fear of the sexual furore breaking out into a sleazy CCTV pizza porno film. I was stood back with the girls, thinking about the fox and what I should do; should I go back to the trailer park with some superglue and try to fix him back in place; should I order a fake pizza to the real fox’s house and ask him what’s going on; or should I chuck the fox’s head in the river and be done with it.

But I didn’t have a choice in the matter because 36 Starcross Street was on the computer screen and the pizza was out of the oven and ready to be dispatched. I jumped into the car and threw the pizza in the back and set off. To begin with I was jumping red lights and revving my engine like a boy racer, eager to talk to the fox like a schoolgirl meeting a pop star. But like a schoolgirl, I got nervous and starting stalling. I took a few wrong turns and looked at myself repeatedly in the mirror, as if the structure of my quiff would determine the quality of my meeting with the fox.

When I got to number 36 Starcross Street I still had no idea what I was going to say. The fox came to the door while I was still getting out of the car, he was staring straight past me and I swear he saw the fox’s head, his head, but he didn’t say anything about it. I gave him the pizza and took the twenty-pound note from his furry paw. ‘I know this is going to sound completely weird… but do you know of a great big house, sorta like a mansion with high gates, and its surrounded by woods?’ I said.

The fox looked me up and down for a few seconds. ‘It’s only becau-‘

The fox interrupted me this time: ‘Yeah I know a place like that’.

‘What do you know about it’ I asked.

‘It’s a long story’ the fox said. ‘If you let me ride around the town with you I‘ll tell you some more about it’ he added.

So it was arranged. It was as easy as that, but it still made no sense to me. How could he know of the old country home, it was from a dream, an imaginary place? I had only said it out of panic.

The fox rode shotgun while I drove back to the store to collect another pizza. We exchanged formalities but I was still too stunned by the situation to really ask what was going on: as if by drawing attention to the weirdness I would then cause the fox to evaporate or something. We drove passed a KFC joint and the fox got really excited: ‘Fuck me! I could do with a KFC’

‘Do foxes like KFC?’ I said taken aback.

‘Why wouldn’t foxes like KFC’ he said.

‘No reason. I suppose the colonel does a good job with his seasoning’ I said.

‘It’s the top fast food outlet in my opinion. Fuck Ronald McDonald and that big burger, who even is the ‘Burger King’ he said.

‘I don’t even know’ I said laughing.

‘Are you stopping for a KFC or what!?’ he demanded.

‘But you left half of that pizza I delivered to you at home’ I said.

‘Yeah, but, we foxes are never sure of our next meal’ he said.

‘Sounds that way, what with your outspoken views on all the major fast food restaurants’ I said.

‘I take it we are not going to KFC then’ he said stroppily.

It dawned on me that although he was some kind of magical animorphic fox; he was just a normal guy beneath that.

We spent another hour and a half in the car together in which time I learned that; he loved gangster films and only gangster films ‘for the way the mobsters always get what they want and live their own life regardless of the laws of society’; he hated CCTV because it is ‘an unnatural phenomena to be recorded doing what you do’; and his favorite animal was a duck-billed-platypus although he was ‘disappointed to have never seen one in the woods’. I wandered if he was the only life-size animal around and he told me that he wasn’t but I wasn’t ready to know about all that yet. I got the same kind of evasive response when I asked about the cream-coloured country home from my dream: ‘You’re not ready yet’. I was intrigued but at the same time frustrated, I didn’t want to ruin it though. Like when you realise something is too good to be true in a dream, but you try your hardest not to question it incase your bubble of subconscious bursts and you wake up sweating with an unwanted erection.

The next day I picked the fox up from 36 Starcross Street as we had arranged and we embarked upon another night of mystery. I just couldn’t get anything out of him unless it was to do with something on the tele, or a band or a football team – I was very surprised to find that he wasn’t a Leicester City fan, but in fact hated Gary Lineker with a passion: ‘But their mascot ‘Filbert the fox’ is the most similar looking thing to you that I have ever seen!’ I reasoned.

‘I don’t care, I hate that Gary Lineker and his big FA cup ears, and I hate those boring crisps he eats too’ he said.

‘What’s so bad about Lineker anyway’ I couldn’t help but crack up when he came out with these ridiculous statements.

‘Him and Stan Collymore had a fall out’ he said.

‘So…’

‘Collymore is famous for bringing dogging into the mainstream, and to carry on with a career in the media after a revelation like that is admirable in my opinion’ he said.

‘He used to beat up Ulrika Johnson is that admirable?’ I asked. He didn’t reply.

‘And anyway what has a fox like you got to do with dogging? I said.

‘Oh, nothing I just... saw a program on tele about it and it sounded quite exciting’ he said.

‘Whenever I’ve been dogging its just been a load of old guys in expensive cars waiting in a car park and driving off when they see a gang of lads in the car’ I said.

The fox went silent for about half an hour after that little exchange, I figured that I must have hit a sore spot mentioning Gary Lineker. I just carried on delivering the pizzas, even if he wasn’t saying anything, it still felt cool to have a massive talking fox sat next to me as I went.

Over the next few weeks I had the pleasure of the fox’s company for most of my shifts at work, he couldn’t make Wednesdays or Fridays and asked to be dropped off early on the posh side of town ‘to visit a friend’ every once in a while, but on the whole my life felt a lot more purposeful. I didn’t know what the purpose was exactly, but I knew the fox had something to do with it. He allowed me to open up. I told him about Mary and the guilt I felt, I told him how I just wanted to show her I was sorry and maybe even be friends with her if she would let me. He told me that I was better off without bonds and ties, and to let the past stay in the past. He asked me what she looked like and I was shocked to find I didn’t have any pictures on my phone so I waited until I had a delivery on that side of the river and drove outside her house. I knew she used to leave the curtain open after she had a shower but I couldn’t believe my luck when she was stood by her window bare breasted looking in the mirror and brushing her hair. She looked angelic. ‘Who needs her as a girlfriend when you can gaze on her from afar?’ suggested the fox. I didn’t really feel that way, but seeing as she wouldn’t reply to my calls I decided to settle for the fox’s company and Mary’s tits.

The fox also got me talking about my aspirations to be a writer again. He encouraged me to tell him my ideas but remained ominously voiceless with regards to his own life. I told him about my plan for a screenplay involving a mix-up in the hospital with two babies going home with the wrong parents. The plan was for the families to be reunited with their true offspring through a freak coincidence on the Jeremy Kyle show. The fox ripped the idea apart, criticizing my lack of character motives and condemning the plot as ‘shit-cold’. I didn’t take it well at first, and I think the fox noticed this because he told me the real reason for his disapproval was that he hated northern accents and explained how he couldn’t stand anything to do with Jeremy Kyle since they employed ‘Foxy Bingo’ as their sponsor with that ‘cocky northern fox’.

************************************************

‘Do you wana come out with me tonight, y’know, after you finish work, out of the car’ asked the fox. He struggled to get his words out as if he was asking a girl out on a date for the first time.

‘Yeah sure mate, what you thinking?’ I said.

‘There’s a few of us all heading out somewhere, we haven’t decided where yet though’ he said.

‘Sounds like a plan, I guess Mary’s driveway will be lonely tonight then’ I said.

I assumed we wouldn’t be going to the ‘Fox and Hound’.

It was my last delivery of the night when everything changed. We were driving around the rich end of town looking for a house simply entitled ‘Majesty’. I was suspicious of such a lavish name for an address but the customer had paid by card already so I assumed it must be a legit order – I mean the jokes on you if you try playing a prank by actually paying for the pizza. These streets weren’t paved in gold, but I swear that some of the gates had diamond sparkles on their peaks. The fox was getting a bit fidgety. ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘Don’t like rich people’ he replied.

‘Oh come on, I think their quite funny with their outrageous elitism and funny accents… Jolly-good job old boy’ I impersonated poorly.

‘It’s not so funny when you’re me’ he said.

I wondered what he meant by this.

‘I reckon we just go back, this place is a ma-’ he began.

“HERE IT IS… Majesty!’ I interrupted.

The fox shuddered.

The gate opened as soon as I maneuvered the car in front of it.

‘That’s funny’ I said.

‘Some of these posh houses just have sensors, they’re just for ornament really, not really to do with security’ he told me.

I drove slowly down the driveway crackling the clean white gravel beneath us. As I approached the house the lights turned on and illuminated everything to me: this was the cream-coloured mansion from my dream. It was all there, the tall arching doorway, the woods behind the house and the humbling sense of grandeur. It was so much more lucid in real life. A polyphonic ringtone beeped twice, the fox had a text message. I looked down at his phone: ‘Majesty woods’. I was so confused, was that a warning, had he planned this or what the fuck was going on? The fox started acting panicky and urged me to turn around and drive off. ‘Lets go. Lets just go back now. Come on lets go back. I’ll pay you for the pizza’. But I was intrigued: this fictional place from my dream had come to life and I was here with a magical talking fox, I had to find out what it meant. Curiosity killed the cat.

I parked as close to ‘Majesty’ as I could. I got out with the pizza, locked the door and started towards the door but before I had the chance to knock it opened briskly and powerfully. The man from my dream in hunting gear walked out. He was much less intimidating than I remembered. His eyes were big and droopy and his grey hair was swept behind his ears revealing his ruby red cheeks. He was shorter than me and rather stout. ‘Who are you’ he requested walking straight passed me’

‘Pizza?’ I gestured the box towards him.

‘Oh yes! Fair play chappy. Have you heard any signs of foul play whilst in the grounds? Seen anything unusual?’ he asked.

‘Urm not while I’ve been here today… I had a dream about this place’ I said.

Ignoring me: ‘Is that your motorcar!?’ he exclaimed. ‘What is that perverted buffoon doing in your front seat?’

‘The fox?’ I asked.

‘Yes the bloody fox. PERCY, PERCIVALD’ he shouted. ‘BRING ME MY SHOTGUN’

Almost instantly as if on queue, another man with hunting gear came running through the door with two shotguns in his hand.

‘WHAT THE FUCK. No you can’t hunt him you mental poshos’ my dream was coming true. I had to stop them.

‘We are not hunting him’ the main posho said. ‘We are going to murder him’

‘Murder?’ I said.

‘Yes and I don’t think the police will have a lot to say about it. Not after what his despicable friends and he have been doing in my woods’ he said.

‘What are you going on about? You’ve seen the fox before? I asked.

‘I’ve seen a whole gang of these furry fiends before. They come into my woods at night dressed up as cuddly toys and fornicate wildly with a complete disregard for the sanctity of my grounds’ he told me.

‘And we’ve had enough’ the other posho added.

I shouted to the fox ‘Is this true’

He began gesticulating innocence but I couldn’t hear what he was saying through the window. I walked over to the car. ‘Hand him over and you will be rewarded chappy’ the main posho said to me. I opened the door.

‘HAND HIM OVER’ the other posho ordered.

‘I thought you’d be into it’ the fox said regretfully as he jumped out of the car and burst into a sprint towards the woods.

I was waiting for one of the mental poshos to shout ‘RELEASE THE HOUNDS’ but instead they loaded their shotguns and ran after the fox. I followed them. We ran through the thick layers of forest and jumped over a few logs. I was eager to overtake the hunters and find the fox, and it wouldn’t have been hard at the inebriated rate they were going, but I was weary of their loaded shotguns so restrained myself to waiting behind them. Eventually we found ourselves at a clearing and to my dismay the hunters were telling the truth: a melee of sexual perversion lay before us. There were great-big furry wolves banging smaller furry squirrels against the trunks of sycamore trees; there were furry monkeys sucking off furry bulldogs like they were licking on the tips of bananas; there were furry black and white cows mixing with furry brown cows performing the 69’er with their udders; there were furry pink rabbits being drilled in the ass by panting furry tigers yelling ‘Its GRRRRRRRRRRREAT’; and there was even a furry Care Bear riding a furry Scooby Doo in the reverse cowgirl.

The hunters opened fire. It was a massacre. A few of the furries got away – God knows where they went or what they did – but most of them were mauled down by the poshos’ callous spray of bullets. They must have had a field day, I bet hunting had never been such fun. ‘Good show Percy, shame a few of them got away, but some of the little blighters always do’. Credit to the furries, they stayed in role even when they lay dying on the floor: as I fled the scene back to my car I heard a cacophony of tragic swansongs; a howling wolf; a mooing cow and a wailing bulldog.

When I was back in my car and safely parked outside the pizza store I called the police and told them what I saw. The pizza company were understanding and gave me two weeks paid leave to reconcile my emotions, although they did ask me why I didn’t return the pizza if the customer neglected to take it from me. On my way home I phoned the fox to find out if he got away okay. He told me that he ran to a different clearing, but did one when he heard the gunshots. He said the first day that I delivered him a pizza he was about to go out ‘furring’ – that’s what they call it apparently – and that’s why he was dressed up like that, he saw the fox’s head in the back of my car and recognized the mansion I spoke of and assumed I knew about the activity. He later realised that I was ignorant to his designs but decided to groom me anyway. He told me he had a lion’s costume waiting for me at home and was planning on initiating me that night. I hung up on him and never saw him again.

The story was a big media hit, all over the local and national news, The Sun even ran an article ‘Furrociosly Funny’ with cartoon images of the horrific scene in the woods complete with speech bubbles. The two hunters were arrested and both given life sentences. I couldn’t go back to the delivery job after the media exposure so I handed them my notice. Mary had seen me on the news and contacted me, to tell me to ‘never wait on her driveway again or she would get the police involved, and that she wanted nothing to do with me regardless of my trauma’.

Sony bought the rights to the story for ten grand, and I threw in the wooden fox’s head for authenticity. The bastardized filmic version has just been released: I’m played by Keanu Reeves and Sean Connery stars as the fox. In a steamy sex scene that makes me feel weak inside: Scarlet Johannson, as Mary, smashes a chandelier as she explodes out of control in her third screaming orgasm.

Birth Scene

2010-11-29T17:59:00.000Z

It is Thursday the 12th of December 1994. The Christmas lights are being switched on in the city of Exeter by chat-show host Jerry Springer. The cheers of elation erupting from the high street surge towards the hospital building as the twinkling fairy lights illuminate the festivities taking place below them. “JERRY JERRY JERRY” Springer sits on his papier mache throne and feels contented that he has once more brought happiness and joy to a mob of strangers. He casts a smiling glance at his loyal subjects; teenage boys with mistletoe stuck to their belts; pregnant teenage girls singing “Away in a manger” at peoples doorsteps for money; men buying cut-price jewellery for their mistresses; middle-aged women stuffing chocolate selection boxes into their handbags for their grandchildren; and a particularly mischievous red robin perched on a white fairy light staring into the maternity ward of the hospital.

An unusually high influx of women with wet patches around their groins has forced the maternity wing to split each ward into two beds. Three nervous looking men, two exasperated women with their legs in the air and a young girl holding a care bear, occupy the room being surveyed by the red robin. The male midwife is constantly pacing from one side of the room to the other tending to both prospective parents, cursing nurse Paige who booked the night off months in advance upon hearing who was switching on the Christmas lights. One of the men is knelt down beside his wife looking very worried and repeatedly asking her: “Is everything alright dear?” or “How are you feeling?” to which she replies accurately and insincerely: “I FEEL LIKE I’M GOING TO FUCKING DIE HERE”. The other man is crouched over, rubbing his short spiky ginger hair against his wives dainty freckled forehead roaring: “Come on Janine! Do it for the Wedleys”. Janine smiles and her face radiates elusive beauty, before she screws up her face and unleashes a thunderous scream that scares the birth into action. The cute three-year-old girl is leant over the windowsill, hugging her care bear tightly and staring back at the red robin with a white ring around its eye.

The room explodes into action. One woman is confidently heaving and breathing, screaming in an animalistic manner, her husband is incredibly awed by her performance and is even forced to adjust the slackness of his belt to accommodate stirring. The other woman is somewhat quieter, efficiently carrying out the wonder of childbirth, whilst her husband preys, preys to whom he does not know. The midwife is hurriedly scuttering between the two beds trying his best to give the correct advice for the reciprocal period of labour. He occasionally confuses dilation measurements between women but nobody is detached enough from the situation to notice. The young girl is still examining the red robin.

“Mummy! The birdie is shaking. The birdie is sick!” The young girl looks towards her mother and wonders why her father is holding his hands together so close to his face. Nobody hears her. Suddenly the white light that the robin is perched upon starts to flash. The robin bursts into flames and combusts into a sullen pile of ashes. The whole circuit of lights starts sparkling and emitting screeching sounds. Flashes of light spark from the bulbs, some crack and explode shattering into glassy snowflakes falling to the ground. People below start gasping. They shriek as the fairy lights turn into fireworks and light up the sky as the city is plunged into darkness. Jerry Springer looks confused. The little girl is crying. The maternity ward is thrown into a frenzy of confusion; the expulsing mothers are wailing, instinctively concerned for their young; one father is weeping, crying for help; whilst the other is shouting, furiously demanding an explanation; the midwife is taking photos of the dilated vaginas with his camera phone, using the flash to help deliver the babies; the little girl is crying.

Somehow through the chaos the midwife manages to cut both umbilical chords and carry the babies into the emergency cots where a night nurse with a candle tends to them. When he returns to the ward, both women have expelled their placentas onto the floor and the backup lighting has been activated. One father is profusely thankful for the midwife’s ‘calm and confidence in a horrible moment” and the other father assures the room that he “would have responded in the same heroic way if he was called upon” to do so. The young girl is now lying in her mother’s arms, stained by the afterbirth.

“Both the babies are boys.” The midwife says.

“See Janine, I told ya didn’t I? The lads gonna be a true Wedley, I knew it” The ginger father says to his wife. The mother gleams back at him proudly.

“Aww did you hear that Jennifer? You’ve got a baby brother! The other father says patting his daughter on the back. The young girl snuggles deeper into her mother’s arms without responding.

“The mothers should get some rest-”

“-NO we are going home tonight” The ginger father interrupts the midwife.

“But I really think it is best for both the mothers and the infants to spend the first night in hospital, just as a precaution.” Says the midwife.

“We have to pick up little Charlie from my mum’s and we’d like to spend the night as a family if it’s all the same by you.” The mother says.

“And you?” The midwife asks the other family.

“We’d like to stay” the mother yawns “It’s my first night off in, in, well since I can remember and I’d like to sleep now.”

The midwife fetches one of the babies from the night nurse and all the necessary information is discussed. This process is repeated in the morning for the other family.

The ginger father names his son Chris and the other boy is named Roger by its mother.

Halloween Monster is going 2 get ya?

2010-11-02T13:23:00.003Z

A young lad walking through the graveyard on Halloween, the moonlight splinters through the brambles from the refection of the swanpool..

Earlier that night he had met a silver fox, a black sheep, an eccentric old fellow. At a bar, with two girls, about to order a pint of European Lager: "I'm flamboyant.. And I'm drunk" The old man with grey hair, a large pot-belly and relaxed wrists announces.

Sat in a booth at the back of the bar, three vodka lemon and limes arrive. "Courtesy of Sir William". The younger male pounces on the waiter and downs all three drinks, spilling some cider-and-black over the blond girl in the process, looks to the old man and asks "WHAT!?" Sir Williams seems taken aback, but not enough to refuse the offer to sit with the group.

Sir William asks about ambitions and boasts of his worldly conquests: a day on each of the world's most exotic beaches to build up an appetite in order to devour their local cuisine and then fornicate with the language-less and therefore in-need-of-consent-less women. He was a carpenter, and a sailor, and a saint, and a soldier, his father is an editor and his daughter is the Personal Relations manager for Manchester United Football Club. His sister is Korean, but North or South "it does not matter which". He and good old Leo Wilkins were kicked out of Kings College at the modest age of twelve for callously joy-riding a cement mixer "over half of the school". Said apparatus was later found jammed in the net of the new tennis courts.

Nature calls! The strongest muscle in Sir William's body is his liver. The liver is not a muscle. And even Sir William has to empty it on particularly active evenings such as halloween. The youngsters confer, and it is decided to try and push the flamboyant gentleman and see how farfetched this tale will wag.

Alcohol is a funny thing.

On returning Sir William, decides to sit in between the young women and insists on a photograph, cupping each of their breasts and gurning with a synthetic erection he tells the unsuspecting audience of his "weekend pills".

"How many times are we talking here, like?" the young lad says.

"Well I would usually get around five-to-six stiffys in a weekend"

"And you go for it every time yeah!?" Asks the lad.

"Well the thing with the weekend pill, its a special kind, its like, urm its like-"

"Its like viagra?" The lad says.

"Viagra - its like viagra but it only kicks in when you are horny. You need these things at my age you see" Says William.

The girls are giggling throughout this exchange.

The lad keeps a straight face, breaking his gaze only to juvenilely slap his fingers together: a shoddy parody of urbanism.

It turns out, his exclusion from all boys school opened a new world to the young William. Instantly the advent of girls into his life affected him deeply. On the very eve of his first day at Thames-Valley Comprehensive he attended a raucous evening dinner that swiftly metamorphosed into a decadent all-night-long party complete with booze, cigarettes, nudity and casualties. And this at the tender age of twelve! One girl was found unconscious of alcohol poisoning, so William - ever the pragmatist - swiftly whisked off her clothes and placed her in the healing comfort of the cold bath.

Like the body-builder posing by the pool, standing between the sun and his naked lover, casting his shadow, as to prevent the rest of the world to see her hermaphroditic penis.

Sir William tells us it is not his aristocratic heritage, nor his enviable explorations of the world that make him a rich man. No. It is the moments when he is laid in bed next to a woman he loves, smiling, gazing into each others eyes, naked, with eight hours to do whatever he wants. That is what makes him a rich man.

"I Love you" He says meekly towards the ginger girl.

This is after he tells us how his many lusty affairs are not for his wife to think upon with scorn, because it was libido, simple human desire. Animalistic cravings not true love. Not that which he surrenders himself unto her.

Offers are made. "60 K and a yacht around the world?"

"I'll dump the head of Liverpool Metropolitan Police Station, I'll finish with her and the five-year plan"

"I just need a woman tonight, don't you understand?" He says to the ginger girl.

"You understand don't you?" Looking towards the lad.

"The crew bar stays open all night and the booze is free".

Instead. We go to a different pub. In this one, pumpkins are carved out of rotten smiley faces and hags dress up as barmaids to serve us all a pint of Hobgoblin Ale. Sir William drops the knighthood and insists on being named simply 'Bill'. With this he says:

"I am living life aren't I? Yes I am. I am not imitating art, the most beautiful feeling in the world is to have a woman thrusting her pumping vulva onto your nose".

And with this he leaves.

It is discussed how Sir William wears his flamboyant heart on his sleeve and his Prince Albert in his pants.

A young lad walking through the graveyard on Halloween, the moonlight splinters through the brambles from the refection of the swanpool, David Bowie - Changes blasts from his headphones as a car crashes into the back of him.

My room

2010-10-13T15:02:00.003+01:00

You might think it an exaggeration for me to compare my room to a rat infested cellar beneath the most dingy of Parisian bistros, but I surely do envy the rats for the rotten food they indulge to feast upon. You might think I am serving my keepers the greatest disservice when I speak of them with such insolence as I am about to: but I really do despise their tyrannous reign over the place, and I can honestly say that their bitter disrespect continues to nullify any positive attachments to the room. You might find me ungrateful in my telling of how I yearn to sleep in the unkempt and guilt-ridden bed of a gigolo; because it at least comes with a heart-shaped pillow - albeit complete with complimentary white stains - when faced with the prospect of another night on this bed I keep.

You might be shocked to hear that I do not dispute the legitimacy of my residence in this prison cell, for I truly do regret stabbing that cunt in the fruit section of Aldi, because there are no CCTV cameras in the adjacent toiletries aisle.

sinister rouge

2010-09-10T13:35:00.003+01:00

Wake up with my bellend stuck to the inside of my marks and spencer boxer shorts. My eyes focus on a papier mache mask from the Cuban rainforest, its teeth are sharp, its hands are placed on either side of his head mirroring the despair that perforates through its eyes. Its ears have been chopped off. Get up and navigate my crooked joints through a collage of green and black socks, Green and Blacks chocolate wrappers, blue hoodies and sandy rugs with Volvic water bottles on top. Take a piss and shudder from the sprinkles of dried smegma that fall into the toilet. Phone a university in Cornwall to tell them I can't live like this anymore and I'm not even homeless yet. Seven unanswered calls and I'm getting angry. I accept that I am going to have to live in a B&B for the year. 'When in Rome'. I cook myself scrambled eggs on toast, the eggs float around on the milk like shrimps in dehydrated rock pools.

Pick up England and drop his girlfriend to work at the mental hospital. Pack Laney and his bodyboarding gear into the car, but the boot wont open. Calmly I announce: "You fucking cunts cant even open a boot without breaking it, this is gonna cost at least thirty quid" to which England retorts: "Fuck off Josh, It's not my fault you've got a shit car". "May aswell call it a day" I say. "AHAHA fuck that, its not the end of the world mate come on" Laney suggests.

On the motorway I truck pulls out in front of me, England is riding shotgun. "Give him some England" Laney says. England gets his head out of the window and starts fucking off the truck driver. This scenario is repeated three to four times. We all have an oversized can of caffeinated energy and dance to 'Tiger Army III: Ghost Tigers Rise'.

"Hello Mate" a croaky voice that is obviously put-on bellows from out of my car window. "Have you seen my missus, shes fat as fuck... and ginger.. yeah shes ginger and shes got a stupid hat on?" "No, not seen her sorry" a confused man with a stupid England hat on replies". "ALRIGHT" my car wheelspins off and nearly hits a black man on a bicycle. He subsequently calls me a wanker. This takes place in the carpark in Bude.

At bodyboarding I hit my head on a wave and Laney cuts his ankle on his flippers. Some cool dudes are surfing and a fat couple have both got their tits out. A sophisticated couple are practicing anal sex on the overlooking cliff. The wind is blowing towards us so I am careful to keep my mouth closed in case a piece of fecal sperm cums my way. End of bodyboarding sequence In my fur-coat and replica aviators I flash my bare chest to a blond with a surfboard. I strike a pose that she chooses to ignore as she walks past awkwardly talking to her boyfriend.

Beep my horn as a golfer swings his driver to strike the ball. A woman in a bistro that won't serve us drinks tells us that the best fish and chips are to be found 5 miles west in Widemouth Bay. On the way there Laney inadvertently tells a stoner his girlfriend is fit and some surfer crashes into a cliff on a freak once-in-a-lifetime wave. The fish and chips are not in fact 'the best' but actually quite average so we chuck them as bait for seagulls. A scottish woman with her gash out catches the three of us stood over a seagull brandishing miniature boulders held high above our heads. She talks about not killing them, we talk about raping her and sending her kid to make us a chicken sandwich.

At a campsite CCTV footage shows a lad about 5ft 10 wearing a sleeveless Ramones top and a pair of cargo trousers anxiously get out of his car and walk towards a wooden fox on a sign. From a POV shot of the youth you can see that the fox is the same size as him. The camera cuts to his mates' perspective in the car, watching, laughing as the boy pulls a big white wooden pole out of the ground. The black and white CCTV footage from above shakes in the wind as he callously assassinates the cute furry fox. A low angle close up catches the moment in slow motion as the poor fox's head droops and falls from glory. The juvenility of the situation is accentuated through the use of a POV shot from an oncoming car with two middle-aged women in it. They see the scandalous male rip the head from the fox's neck and make a guilty dash towards the car. With the microphone based inside the car, the audience hear a chilling cackle as the three fugitives accelerate out of the scene with haste.

Water Fountain

2010-07-31T11:22:00.004+01:00

One mother stranded in a glass shopping complex. The water fountain entrances her. Every drop of water rises and falls, flows seamlessly, invisibly. It shimmers brilliantly, the yellow beams emanating from McDonalds' golden arches reflect a dull rainbow that appears to float above a young boy with fair hair, who is being picked up by the handles of his denim dungarees.

One mother is feeling the Valium kicking in. Her fears are recycled, they are fears that every woman has felt since the beginning of time. She wants to fit in and flow. She forgets about her boy, she forgets about her water bills, she forgets about her MOT test failure, she forgets about her crooked toe-nail and her cheap haircut. For one moment she feels free.

The boy in dungarees has his mouth stuffed with a soiled sock. Muted cries are made, but that really does not affect his plight. The woman with her arm around the boy leaves behind a plastic Superdrug bag. Inside the bag there is around fifty unsuccessful pregnancy tests. The woman navigates the crowded shopping centre erratically, she bumps into a few chavs in pink cotton tracksuits: "OI WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING YOU DOZY MARE!". She doesn't look around, and she doesn't notice that all four of the girls are pregnant. She doesn't resent every piece of fertile blood that streams through their clitoral blood-vessels. She doesn't curse every single iron globule of waste that she sheds every 28 days; for now she has a baby of her own.

One mother gets splashed by a droplet of water. She shudders and her eyes focus on the water fountain properly. She clearly sees the blond child splashing about like a drunken dog in the sea, but only now does she realise it is some other woman's son. Panic hits her and saturates her nerve endings, her stomach drops down to her ankles and her wrists begin to shake. Her mind plays a kaleidoscope of the past ten minutes, an image of the water fountain, spins into an image of the water fountain, dissolves into an image of the water fountain. Once more she is frozen, entranced by the water fountain. It is not flowing seamlessly, the blond boy is interrupting the flow.

She realises that she used to fit in and flow. Not anymore. She thinks. But she forgets how on this exact date three years ago an unsuspecting mother was fishing for her bus pass in the fountain. She forgets how she saw the anger in the mother's eyes as the fair-haired baby cried for some milk. She forgets the burning streak of jealousy that she felt shoot through her veins. She forgets the callous act of theft that she performed. She forgets noticing the way that the water splits and sprays around the arm of the aggravated mother. She forgets picking the baby up, carefully cradling its neck, wrapping it up in her cardigan and walking towards the exit sign slowly and deliberately.

One woman stranded in a glass shopping complex. The water fountain entrances her. Every drop of water rises and falls, flows seamlessly, invisibly.

every journey is a triumph

2010-07-17T01:53:00.002+01:00

I've been trying to find my friends house, at 1:45 AM, driving around a completely different neighborhood. I've been driving smoothly reckless dodging parked cars down a sequence of thin residential roads with squinted bloodshot eyes. I've been swerving across both sides of the road trying to pick up a cricket bat and some pads. With full beams on? On my own? At this time in the morning? This is what I've told the imaginary police officer in my mind. As I stand in my car-park listening to retro music over-indulgently whilst pissing on a British gas van who's interior is lit-up by a Sat-Nav.

Did you mean: iphone doing this shit with sound wont work da phone

2010-07-14T01:27:00.003+01:00

Entered Exeter. Got a job. Waited for a while at George's Meeting house for Darryl. met his Bulgarian friend. asked his English friend if he'd spunked in this girl yet. Had a drink. Had tea with Mum and Emily. Met England, he's got a new girlfriend in Portugal. Picked up Dave. Dave chips a toad over his neighbours house with a sand wedge. Dave's dad has lost their kitten. drive around town. stop and try to get Dane to steal us a football from One Stop. It is light outside still. talk to Jake and Rabbage. roll a spliff. I pull a bug from my hair and it looks like a mini black crab. smoke da joint outside the car. talk about a boy with a massive powerpod of a head shagging his maths teacher who is engaged. Kev Squires walks passed and chuckles to himself. Drive to Marine Parade. It is dark outside now. my phone wont work anymore, it just keeps on calling me a sex offender. the touchscreen doesn't work, it just reads out aloud everything that I press. sometimes it just says stuff anyway. "Facebook". "Facebook". "Facebook". smoke a joint on the beach. chuck stones at boats pretending to aim at the bin. "Papertoss". try to save the beach huts telephone number for prank calls. Forget the phone is fucking around. "Phonebook: double tap to open, swipe to lock". Get a pizza. I buy one you get one free. talk about when Rabbage smashed the pizza place's window. The sticker still hasn't been replaced : P_ ZZA P_ LACE. chuck the box outside the shop. see Dave kick a bin for a while. Jake walks home. Drop Dave home. Evade da policia. Drop Rabbage home. "Sex Offender". "German Les- Sex Offender". Harass some girls walking up the hill. Apologise. Drop England home. take a piss in the carpark. Brush my teeth. Get into bed. "Screen Dimmed... Screen Locked".

London to Brighton

2010-07-13T00:14:00.001+01:00

Driving on the wrong side of the road out of Berlin in a rented Volkswagen Polo and I've felt more comfortable with my hands in a prickle bush. Remembering to change gear with my right arm is harder than a left-handed wank. Occasionally I get the tyres caught in a tramline and grind down the road, but mostly I don't hit any of the other cars on the road. I'm sweating fuck-loads because I can't seem to initiate auto-pilot. Get high at a service station, get lost in Hannover, feel hungover on da autobahn, have a shit at a German mall, cross the border into the Netherlands, admire the lack of geographical relief, think about pretty brunette girls riding bicycles with dresses on, swap seats in the car, get some shit directions from Matthew Peter Somerville.

Laker navigates seamlessly through the labyrinth of one-way roads, tram-lines, gear changes and general road etiquette. Arrive at Matt's and smoke two of his pre-rolled spliffs. Read his spazticated email to Nick Clegg and set up a bed on the floor. Matthew mentions that he does 'occasionally smoke marijuana' but does not use this fact to excuse his spelling mistakes. Maybe we go out and get some fastfood this night too.

Get up to eat some waffles and try to take the rental car back to Hertz or Avis. Walk through Vondel Park, go to a coffee shop with flashing lights to play pool. The streets afterwards are delicious with strawberry cream tarts, quaint barges floating downstream, magical alleyways, tunnels and bridges. There are Turkish kebab stores with elephant legs swirling around on sweaty sticks, grey women on bicycles swearing like a witch. A red light means a fuck without a fight.

We stumble in and out of civilization, occasionally engaging with other members just to buy rizlas, ice-cream smoothies or to give ourselves a comforting sense of alienation. The man in a boutique gives us a line of herbal speed that smells like cinnamon and tells us how to attract pretty girls with a toilet. The man in the Ajax shirt lurching over the bridge chucking half-empty cans of beer at families in boats tells us to 'FUCK OFF'. The tall girl with yellow hair, yellow eye make up and yellow bikini tells us 'to come in for some fun'. In bed at night we all wish that deep down, we wanted to sleep with a prostitute.

Buildings that look grey and industrial like Sheffield or Plymouth by day are illuminated vibrantly purple pink orange and turquoise at night. They now remind of Shang-hai or the great coral reef. It does not seem necessary for the sky to harbour stars because the whole town feels like a fairy tale; innocent fantasy replaced with gluttonous debauchery.

The tastebuds here, like a pulsating clitoris, need constant stimulation. Your stomach becomes a hole that needs filling. 'Twenny euros extra for anal'.

Lost. One night we decide to gatecrash a houseparty untill it becomes apparent that it is infact a family barbecue, complete with nappy changing and beer sans alcohol. To move the evening along we decide to follow some girls for a bit. Turns out they don't know where they are going either. We push them down a steep hill with steps at the bottom in a shopping trolley. Waiting ages for a bus it dawns on us that they are not running this late on a national holiday. We walk in a direction. Find ourselves stood outside a pub blazing in the rain, drinking tins of Lidl branded beer, cheering loutishly at a plasma television that has Fulham beating Wolfsburg on it through an open doorway. The warmth of the wooden fireplace eludes us. Dutch people with money and wives start to notice us they scowl in our direction.

Later on a field with electronic music coming from a stage. Matt sees his boss in a coffee shop and she leaves. The electricity has been turned off on the stage. The taxi man has dropped us off prematurely and we are eating poor quality kebabs.

Berlin Part Two

2010-06-03T18:21:00.002+01:00

Eat loads of ham and cheese sandwiches for breakfast with chocolate corn flakes. Train to the Berlin wall. Walk into this tall glass building that has a silent sensation to it; reminiscent of theatrical depictions of heaven. On the other side of heaven is a river and on the river is a boat full of people. Realizing they are here to greet me, I put my hands up in the air in a celebratory manner. I wave humbly to my fans and the whole boat is moved to a standing ovation; women with rose-bowed hats raise their champagne glasses; children with balls of sun-cream on their noses clap their miniature hands disjointedly; and the driver releases a deep reverberating wail from the boat's horn.

After climbing over a fence we find ourselves in a small commune that has been smuggled out of Jamaica since the tearing down of the Berlin Wall. The walls are filled with vibrant graffiti and the ground is sandy. There are stalls selling chicken stew, orangina, curried rice, iced beers and t-shirts with ghetto blasters printed on them. A beach volley-ball net, a skate ramp, a concrete basketball court, a beach soccer stadium and a ping pong table. Rastafarians are making friends with people; challenging them to the sports; offering them drugs; and rhythmically calling out "Reggae see-deeee's, Cum get ya Reggae see-deeee's. Onlee five Euros."

I own the ping-pong table, easily beating Rastas, Brits, Germans and Poles. A whole new life reveals itself to me. A montage movie trailer: I see myself in four years, wearing a pair of worn out black sambas and a sleeveless top of a German punk band. My face, arms and legs are a rich brown; an indistinguishable tan from UV rays and lack of washing. I'm in a group of kids walking with bottles of cheap Vodka down a small street towards a house blaring with the sound of distorted guitars and blown-out speakers. Next I'm cycling over the grooves of the tram-lines sliding in and out of control through traffic to deliver flyers and small bags of speed. I'm stood on the roof of a building smoking a spliff and talking in German to a dirty-blond girl. We're watching the trails of cars and buses and ambulances mirroring the volatile meteor shower above us. I'm involved in a riot, a policeman is batting me down. I find a brick on the floor where I've fallen. I pick it up. I raise my arm. I am sat in a van, hands tied behind my back. I am dragged out of court. I am laid in a white room on a tough bed.

Get a McDonalds and it tastes like shit. Try on some overpriced woolen jumpers. Made in China not Tibet. See a pregnant woman working in a liquor store. Kick a piece of bread at an attractive woman who probably works in an office. Navigate a train to Potsdamer Platz. A bomb has exploded in a bus and there are fire engines everywhere. The whole situation is handed efficiently and hardly manages to disrupt our sight-seeing. Go to an affluent consumer complex; the walls are, again, made of glass and stretch up high into the sky like a skyscraper; the ceiling is a glass orb resembling that of a leisure centre; the water fountain is average; and the big screen televisions are showing trailers of childrens movies.

Drink a big German beer at a bar, tip the waiter, steal a mozzarella and tomato ciabatta, climb on a climbing frame, catch a train, catch a tram, run home, go to the kebab shop for some water, sit at the bar, play table football, meet a Polish guy and go up to his room for a joint.

Pitor is tall and lanky, he makes his money by smuggling cigarettes, designer clothes and marijuana around Europe. He gives his friend directions and sends him back to Poland with the money that Dan pays him for a box of fags. He rolls a big spliff and by the way he has lost his voice from shouting too much. He has a friendly but hoarse whisper. I experience vertigo as I tap out the ash from the seventh floor apartment. He is paranoid about the smell of smoke so he sprays a fake Lacoste aftershave all over himself, Dan, myself and the doorway. He stands on a stall to try and catch a moth in a plastic bag with a safety pin, but he falls over knocking me onto his bed.

We go downstairs and harass the debating team. They are playing table football and won't give us a game so Pitor shouts abuse at them in German. Eventually we get a game and they thrash us 8-2. Their talisman is an autistic child genius, with no bone structure, the fashion sense of a Charles Dickens novel and Tourettes. He is constantly jibing us in such a nerdy and inpenetrative way that in our stoned states me and Dan don't bother to mention his trembling arms and irreparable social incompetence.

Leave an empty bottle of water on the table as I walk to the lift. This annoys him.

Berlin

2010-06-03T17:28:00.002+01:00

Berlin. 6:45 AM. Walk under a subway tunnel for about thirty minutes looking for a train station. Get in a taxi instead and go to the hostel. The canteen is filled with kids and cheese and pieces of ham with sweetcorn and chilies in. Sleep on the sofa for a bit and walk towards the massive tower in the centrum. See an apparition, God walks across the road in front of us and enters a working mens club.

Get approached by a Bosnian asking for money in centrum. Give her a strawberry, and look in all the car dealerships. Look at Bentleys, Ferraris, Mercedes and Volkswagen campers. Walk past the American embassy and a 6 seater bicycle that goes around in a circle. Throw strawberries at the SS police. Make a mockery of the tank memorial and squash a strawberry on the plaque to mourn the bloodshed.

Take a photo for some Polish girls and smell terrible. Get lost in the Holocaust memorial maze and shout stuff in English. Get a KFC and argue with the stupid women who serves me. She gives me a zinger tower meal, but not a wicked zinger tower meal, so although I get a hash brown and cheese in my burger I don't get two hot wings or some gravy. She can hardy speak English the dumb bitch. Walk around for ages and get vaguely lost on the tram back to the Generator Hostel.

Have a wank in the shower and fall asleep panting on the bunk bed. Wake up and a mexican walks into the room shortly followed by a Canadian couple. The fake Americans persuade us to go on the pub crawl so a posh English girl takes us on a train to a bar called Zapatos. The front is a rock club with a metal band blasting away, the back has a ping pong table and sofas and a dog and people smoking spliffs, sniffing coke and drawing graffiti. The back garden has three separate bars; each playing a different genre of Jet Set Radio music. There is a fire in a bucket and a man is offering to sell speed, a small bandstand has benches on the top. Up the four flights of stairs that stink of piss a man with a grey beard is working on a painting. An elegant couple and a bohemian boy are sat with him drinking red wine. His art is all over the walls and its all pretty nice to look at.

I challenge a guy to a ping pong match and I'm drunk. He plays for a while before smooching a sexy sexy girl and passionately kissing his dog. The guy with the joint comes over and lets us play doubles. He's on Dan's team against me and Tom. He's called Lazer. He chucks us the joint and watches the ball go past him with no effort to hit it with the paddle. Because its a pub crawl we have to leave and the graffiti guys look disheartened that we are with the guide.

The next bar is average, underground and expensive. Really stoned now, its hard to talk to these people with weird, Canadian, Spanish and Sweedish accents. Dolled-up blond prostitutes are hanging around outside the bars with skirts. The next bar is all white, with mirrors everywhere. Me and Dan can't get out of the place because every corridor is a dead end. Find some steps and they lead to a dance-floor. Me and Dan start to get into it, dancing and looking around. These girls are all really thin, these guys all have spiked gelled hair, these kids are all underage! Eventually we decide to sort ourselves out and leave. Get lost walking around looking for Tom and the group or food, or a tram. We find a tram and luckily some girl reading a book and a man in a suit tell us we're headed towards the hostel.

Back in the bar with a pint, four pretty, but also obviously underage, girls approach us. "I'm young and dirty, buy me alcohol". We tell them to 'do one' and sit with some English girls. They're Northern, one is ginger and another has lost her voice. They're here in Berlin for the Techno scene but are not raving tonight. They go outside for a fag and come back in with a ten foot german man with greasy black hair and a leather jacket called 'The Generator'. He keeps on pretending to fart and lets me beat him at an arm wrestle. Then when Tom comes back with the Mexican, The Generator starts to do Arnie and Hitler impressions, complete with goose step and finger mustache akin to Basil Fawlty. The girl with no voice keeps on trying to stroke my hair, she's looking at the hole in my jeans and trying to give me presents; a blue tit earring and a white flower. She's telling me dirty things but I'm not avon any of it. Prefer to go to bed and listen to Belle and Sebastian on my phone.

Coach Trip

2010-05-12T18:35:00.001+01:00

Look behind me triumphantly at Tom. My ticket says number 24 on it and the hot Japanese girl he had been talking about is sitting by the window in seat number 23. After finding out that she is in-fact Chinese, and a dissident of the Communist party with a thirty-six year old boyfriend studying a PhD in Manchester I still don’t know her name, and it is too late to ask. Coach Trip Tip: Whenever you meet somebody ask for his or her name, as to avoid awkwardness later on in your friendship. She feeds me chocolate cookies and at every five-minute stop Tom feeds me a ‘Glamour’ wafer-thin cigarette. Dan is taking pictures of Lithuanian graffiti.

Crossing the border, two armed-guards carry out a passport check. They examine the Latvians’, glance at the front cover of the English and Germans’ and steal the Chinese girl’s passport. Coach Trip Tip: Be White-British or expect the worst. Villinuis looks like a mixture of mainland Greece and Grand Theft Auto Vice City - the latter mostly because of the brilliant blue sky and wide roads. Eastern Poland gives the impression of post-apocalyptic ruralism, with sparse washed-out farmyard scenes and a distinct lack of lusciousness in the landscape. Warsaw is a city. It has McDonalds and infrastructure.

The Polish girl in the service station speaks no English. I have no Polish Zloty. She doesn’t accept Card. She will also not accept; English Pounds; European Euros; Latvian Lats; Casino chips; or my library card. I eat the last of my sausage, crisp and bread, dry-mouth inducing sandwiches and sit uncomfortably feeling sorry for myself for about five hours, falling in-and-out-of sleep every time the bus driver attempts a five lorry overtake, approaching the brow of a hill, in which case he is forced through instinct to break heavily in order avoid the imminent death of all on board and a hefty insurance bill to be footed by the coach company. Coach Trip Tip: Do not get caught in the repercussions of an Icelandic volcano’s ash-cloud, it could cost you a twenty-hour coach trip and possibly your life.

Western Poland looks like a forest of trees with intervals of Motels, surprisingly offering prices in Euros. By the time we get to Germany, approaching Berlin, everybody is stressed to the extent that middle-aged women are sweating in the vein of masturbating adolescent boys, but with the pungent scent of a midsummer’s daytrip on the London Underground. The air on the bus is stale and the mood is of outrage as a women attempts to collect money for the complimentary teas and coffees that she had tricked us into drinking. On a small television screen with tinny speakers, Indiana Jones with Latvian dubbing has finished playing. Getting off the bus feels like you’re graduating from school, receiving your bag mimics the receiving of certificates and saying farewell to the passengers reminds of the people in your form group that you just never want to see again. Coach Trip Tip: Proximity to fat German slobs, who steal your sausages while you’re asleep and tell you to turn your music down even when it is Belle and Sebastian and it is soothing, do not do the country justice.

Tourist Guide to Riga II

2010-05-05T00:34:00.000+01:00

Thursday: go out for a tour of the good shit. We start off at Mcdonalds. After meeting Adam we see these two guys in army costumes walking next to each other like synchronous faggots, they have bayonets and Rupert shouts at them. Then we go up a massive tower, it’s a hotel, and from the 26th floor Riga Old Town looks like Jet Set Radio Future. Every single building looks like something different; as if loads of kids made models of houses out of matchboxes and pebbles, and then some architects decided to replicate them with bricks and mortar. Then we go to the Russian black market, its shut. But in a Jewish memorial square, we become cornered by five flashing police cars with sirens and a black limousine sporting the Israeli flag. We try to sneak out of the danger zone and we look out for sniper rifles and camera crews. It’s not as glamorous as that, but the man in the limo does turn out to be the Israeli Vice President. Tourist Tip: Avoid the Latvian police, they’re angry and have guns.

In this big supermarket called ‘Stockman’ about a million Bourgeoisie Latvians are frantically walking around like puppets consuming expensive goods, whilst Santa Claws-esque jingles are broadcasted over the Tannoy system. We ascend the five floors of fun and leave straight away. On our way out Rupert spits water at women from the escalator and then throws a whole bottle on Hollie Higgins.

We go out in the evening avon beers and foods and we meet some cool Czech guys and a Swedish sports presenter. They turn out to be creeps though, once they have met the girls they turn a bit lecherous; getting up in Hollie and Anya’s face touching their legs. The Swede was a nice guy but he was guilty by association so we ditch him too. Tourist Tip: Some men are only looking to get laid, be careful. After a few more bars we are all dancing, well Laker is going mental and Dan isn’t really dancing at all. A fat bird is giving it the filth to Rupert and a gook is playing it cool with Hollie. After a few hours of partying and arguing, Dan has gone back to Anya’s for a blowjob and Rupert is farting, spitting and hitting on Hollie. Somehow they are both in the top bunk snuggled up together by the morning.

On Friday we go to the Russian Black Market again, this time its open and Anya is our translator. Tourist Tip: Try to meet a Russian girl from Chat Roulette before visiting Russian-speaking areas. Dan tries to take a picture of one stall and the guy tells him he wants to eat his balls for fucking breakfast in Russian. There’s an assortment of spades, shovels, kitchen knives, shears, hunting knives and all kinds of weapons to make me feel like a scaredy-cat. Most of the stalls look like the comprehensive contents of my luggage while some look like an unlucky driver is going to be cruising around with no stereo or speakers in his car. I buy loads of badges meanwhile Laker is getting chased around town by the Russian Mafia.

On a train to Jurmala: just normal stuff happens. At a restaurant there we have a lush meal with English music and Latvian beer. A fat cat joins us for supper and then we smoke some melon shisha and have a laugh. We crash an office ‘team-building’ exercise by chucking rocks at them and a French couple cycle away from us fervently when we ask them how to hire a bike. Tourist Tip: Some Tourist tip-books will send you on wild goose chases.

Anya’s apartment is like a palace, the ceilings are higher than the Eiffel Tower and the walls are whiter than Snowdonia. I cant appreciate this though, I’m eating a takeaway pizza and drinking some beer but my stomach is playing tricks on me and my bum is burning. We play Uno for a bit and then start doing shots of ‘Russian’ vodka with lemon. Me and Tom go discharge hunting in the bedroom, the sheets are all over the place but the juice eludes us. I find a bidet and it sorts my life out. The massaging warm jets feel like clotted cream to my red-raw strawberry bumhole. Now the party is really going and we go to a Nazi bar where we perform a ritual with candle wax upon ourselves. After that me, Rupert and Hollie stay in a club until sunrise. I read out some Russian chat-up lines to some Latvian girls on the podium and talk to an Italian lesbian. Hollie is trying to get a kebab when we go home, but she just settles for a handful of somebody else’s pasta from the fridge. Tourist Tip: Always look out for scavenging drunks, padlock your food.

Most of Saturday is spent arguing about what we’re going to do about the Volcano. Short of a plug we decide to try and buy a Latvian car. This is a failure. Anya leaves and it brings a tear to all of our eyes.

We correspond with some Latvian students from Falmouth and meet them at a houseparty. The eggs that they buy come in a packet with a six-packed hunk on the packaging and three weirdo beardo men are sat on a sofa with one girl. One girl says that she doesn’t have a problem causing her to finger herself every time she does a wee. The French bar is heaving again, heaving with shitheads, one big oath is actually walking into people and grunting “FEE FYE FO FUMB”. At Cuba some dancers mesmerize us as we sip banana daiquiris. By the time we finish drinking and finally decide to dance its’ quietening down, after a couple of minutes of grooving the place is virtually silent. Me and Tom go to a club on our own. Tourist Tip: Don’t be shit at dancing.

For a while we eat a mixture of luscious and unsatisfactory Latvian foodstock and visit some art shops. Everybody is taking photos on cameras so I give them a run for their money on my phone. I decide to send some of these pictures to Knoors photo agency, offering them the full rights to each image for one million Euros. We watch English football at some Irish pub.

Tourist Guide to Riga I

2010-05-04T20:21:00.004+01:00

Avon a burger at Wimpy via Taunton Dean services. The bun is wholemeal, the burger is burnt, the ketchup is vinegar but the coke is cola. In the car I’m listening to pop-punk and talking to Dan on the phone. When I get to Bristol Dan has socks, shorts and shirt on; looking like a spastic and smelling of beer he takes me to a party. There’s loadsa people with bulging pupils, chatting and gurning on Mkat. A short stubby specimen of a woman, has a husband, she is drinking white wine spritzerss and wearing those gay horn-rimmed glasses that don’t have lenses. She later gets escorted out for spitting at a skinhead and swearing at girls. Because we’re boys; we talk about football.

Wake up in the middle of the night to a horrible fright; a small cat is vibrating on my face, giving me itches and making me pissed off. So I lock it in a room with the dog. With Dan, go to the mall, drink some samples of tea, eat KFC, go to the pub, beep at some ramblers, pick up a Chris Hoare, kick a ball, skatepark, eat lasagne, greet Rupert and Hollie, greet Tom and get a taxi to the airport.

At the airport we get high. Lying on a sofa made from three wooden chairs, my hood partially covering my eyes, I start to see everything through a fish-eye lens. People’s heads are bending and the world is round. When I wake up we rush furiously to stand in a queue for ages. A ginger man shouts at us and then pushes in. The massage chairs are heavenly – Tourist Tip: well worth a quid. Sleep for most of the plane journey. Uneasy. Sleep at the hostel. Go out for drinks with Adam from the hostel. Get pissed as fuck and the beer tastes nice. Two hot girls (hot dancers, but actually dressed and looking like skanks) get up on stage and dance to “I’m Horny, Horny, Horny, Horny, Horny”. Rupert, when they have dismounted the miniature stage, then gets up and prances around for a while, in and out of the curtain, but no one in the joint gives a dam. A Latvian steals our drink and sticks his finger up at us. Tourist Tip: go on the pub-crawl, it’s cheap and gets you drunk.

In the morning, look at statues of blockheads: army men with guns and then find Dan and Anya. At an Armenian restaurant the speciality soup features unidentified rodent testicles and leaves a semen-like residue as you lap up the creamy white texture. Rupert tries to impress the waitress with his LARGE 1.5 litre bottle of mineral water compared to the measly 333 ml bottle that she serves him. All of the other food is amazing, Armenian A-grade cuisine. Tourist Tip: Don’t have Armenian soup, even if you’re not in Armenia.

Walk around for ages looking at stuff, mismatched buildings, Stalin’s Birthday Cake, The Opera House, some parks and an out of date football stadium.

PM: Get drunk in the hostel and its karaoke; some Japanese chicks are singing the Spice Girls, Danish guys are singing about ‘being in a Barbie world’, Rupert is going on about Bodytalk in a high-pitched shriek, Dan has a Brand new combeinharvester, we all should stick to the literal Sound of Silence after doing Simon and his mate Garfunkel a huge disservice, and Laker is a fully-blown Teenage Dirtbag. Dan and Anya stay in our room but don’t S-ing.

Another night we get pizza out and the toilet has action music of its own. I feel like taking my poo is an adventure. A blond Australian girl, who is inlove with a Scottish crackhead, follows me and Tom home. Whilst watching Barcelona on TV we sort of engage in conversation with her. When she leaves we listen to Dntel and go to sleep. Tourist Tip: Girls can be boring, even if you’ve never met them before.

sometimes when you live in Dawlish

2010-04-07T00:31:00.002+01:00

Wake up and doze for around two and a half hours. Go for a piss hoping that my cum-stained boxers don't get noticed by my mum or sisters. Get back and take a sip out of my bedtime mug of water, it tastes fucked, like nail polish remover. Another sip. It's turned to vodka and I think I've become a trashy contemporary Jesus Christ. I'm talking to Katie on the phone and she is showing some builders her juicy pussy, but Dave is at the door so I have to go.

My knee is fucked so I can't really play football properly. Just end up kicking the ball at little kids and goading the astro-turf groundsmen. Take Stefan home and we try to get a free coffee from Freddi at Baileys Cafe Lounge, but some supervisor women or something are working too so we just leave.

At Dave's World of Warcraft is fucking shit and Dave's Bulgarian internet friend sounds like a nerd. Dave sounds like a nerd. Dave Chappell Senior comes home and we have roast chicken baguettes. Dave persuades his dad to have a drag race with him down the lanes. Senior's car feels like a spaceship, we must be going at least two hundred miles an hour and my head is glued to the heated neck-rest. The engine sounds well loud and my stomach feels like a bees nest has been opened inside it. My eyes are blurring and Dave's car is a distant speck in the wind-mirror.

Take the sports car for a cruise down the Warren to impress holiday-makers, have a drag-race in the car park and run a red light. Me and Dave kick a ball at fat northerners and arcade rides. I smash a pint glass and Dave upsets a toddlers mummy.

We go downtown and play basketball a little bit and talk to Stefan. He goes to have fajitas so we try and steal some energy drinks from the arcade. Get no energy drinks and lose fifty pee in the gambler. See Jeff Davies in a smart suit and possibly inebriated.

Watch the football at the Langstone Cliff Hotel and then watch some soft porn and read GQ afterwards. Pleasant journey home, eat some roast dinner and watch loads of Southpark. Don't even wank merely go to sleep

Spaghetti Bolognaise

2010-04-04T12:16:00.002+01:00

Imagine being sideways and a big crushing vice device is crushing; a massive bunch of onions with the skin on; loads of garlic bulbs; a live cow that is 'mooing' and a fuck load of tomatoes. enough to feed the third world.

AGGREKO

2010-03-22T22:00:00.003Z

Have you heard about what is going on at the reservoir? There's a sewage tank, an electric fence, an invisible pile of chopped wood, a number-plate recognition camera, a miniature waterfall, a recurring taxi with flashing lights, a 'danger of death' sign, a big body of water, a concrete diving board, a desolate car seat, a smoking spot, an abandoned farmyard, a house that people live in and loads of ominous signs saying: "PRIVATE GROUNDS NO ENTRY".

Have you heard about 'AGGREKO' it is a big blue generator enclosed within a high-security fence. The building next to it has two CCTV screens displaying the road outside and some person has littered the area with an assortment of coke cans, evian bottles, smart price ASDA crisp packets, a Mr Men mug and a vulgar lecoqsportif polo shirt.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A guy who plays keyboard is getting high with a fat kid in a nirvana hoody. They are eating fish and chips watching a film about the atom bomb. "Mate imagine being as strong as an atom bomb" The grunger says to the cool cat. "You'd be shit - you're incapable of anything until you implode on yourself and then you leave a smell or something that keeps on killing people for like, ten years or more". Inhaling as the end of the cigarette burns: "I guess man, but if it was on Halo you'd be a mean motherfucker".

Later on they walk to the beach and see the keyboarders ex girlfriend. He tries to say hello, but her gaze seems to sweep past him, resting awkwardly on the fat kid for a split-second before getting out her phone and pretending to talk to her best friend.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A bus driver is pissed off. His Sky+ refused to record 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' and the pasty shop was sold out of steak and stilton. Loads of shit-faced students are on his bus talking about how hard their academic essays are and the elderly people are hobbling around the aisle bumping into the poles, hitting the "Stop" button more often than is useful.

Crashing, smashing, ball-bashing; the driver yearns to bounce his passengers around the insides of his bus like the green and yellow tic-tacs that he shakes around his small plastic container.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A boy is wandering around the town at night, on his own, he stumbles upon some shotgun shells. He assumes its just the remains of some backward farmer's encounter with a badger or something as equally vapid. A taxi-car flashes passed him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The keyboard player and the fat kid get onto the bus because they are too stoned to drive. They sit at the back and the ex girlfriend sits at the front of the bus, she gets on at the next stop. The keyboard player says that Beth has been acting strange, the grunger agrees. The keyboard player says he wishes he didn't have to see her everyday at uni, and the grunger says nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bus-driver glances in his mirror and sees a blond hardbody sat opposite him, she keeps glancing back to see the road go by out of the back window. The driver has had enough of his usual route. He wants to get frisky, the greasy bastard. He drives down a lane and is cut up by a crazy taxi. He follows it past an abandoned farmyard, alongside an electric fence, through a number-plate recognition camera, around a sewage tank, past a pile of invisible chopped up wood, ignoring a desolate car seat, past the smoking spot and stops at a big body of water in front of a black and white sign reading: "PRIVATE GROUNDS NO ENTRY".

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The boy is scared because as the road enfolds in front of him more and more gun pellets are made visible, shinning brilliantly in the moonlight, twinkling like stars but more dangerously. A bus drives by. He doesn't know what to think, so he just runs. He can hear shouting in the distance, but he is more concerned with the birds fluttering in the over-arching trees above him. Every sudden movement cuts deeply into his brain.

The boys on the bus are panicking because they know this is not the scheduled turn-of-events. The ex girlfriend comes and sits with them on the back row. She tells them both that she has been sleeping with the grunge kid, although he already knew this. The keyboarder is not bothered by this revelation, another day he may have been, but at this moment in time - stranded, held hostage by a horny bus driver in the middle of nowhere - he feels it to be an opportunity: for he has never had a threesome. He suggests, with a huge implication of guilt on behalf of the grunger and the girlfriend, that if they are going to die out here, then they may as well fuck out here first.

The bus-driver who has been snooping around the reservoir looks up and sees the blond girl take off her top through the window of his bus. He desperately runs towards the vehicle moving voraciously and ungraciously kicking up piles of dust all around him. A portrait of repulsion; his mouth is panting and his eyes are blinking incessantly.

The boy comes to the end of the road and unsurprisingly finds a big old bus parked in front of a sign reading: "PRIVATE GROUNDS NO ENTRY". The taxi-car is hidden to him, but nevertheless it is still there. Three men in suits are seen coming out of the building next to 'AGGREKO'. Three shotgun shots are heard and the lecherous bus driver is fucked. The boy sits down cross-legged and waits for his dream to end. The threesome inside the bus is awkward and the grunger has lost his hard-on. When the three men in suits walk onto the bus brandishing their long shotguns, the keyboard player loses his erection too. The girlfriends hole closes and the suited men's fingers squeeze their triggers. The boy imitating the Buddha still hasn't woken up from his nightmare and the three men in suits have no qualms in reminding him just how real this situation is.

The suited men chuck all five bodies into the sewage tank, tow the bus into the big body of water and get back into their taxi. They confer, but none of the detectives understand why this keeps on happening: none of them know what is going on at the reservoir.

The Scent of Success

2010-03-03T16:24:00.000Z

Rick looks up at his environment; a pot full of biros, a stapler, a miniature Henry the hoover a desk with a laptop on it and an office. He's had enough, his tech is malfunctioning again. One look to access the situation, and another as he gets up and leaves.

He bumps his car bumper on a curb before going to a toy shop. They have nothing he wants so he tries another shop. The meat at the butchers is too fatty and the man in the motorshop is not burly enough for his liking. Back in his car, Rick is holding up traffic apologetically, as he puts on Nirvana. Nevermind he decides to drive fast.

In a country lane he is absent-mindedly dodging a barrage of; tractors cultivating sheep; shepherds leading flocks of cows; punk-rock kids with pink mohawks riding on horses; and groups of men in tuxedos pushing Harley Davidsons. He takes the time to look in the mirror, but there's never anybody behind him and he never looks any more handsome. The better you look the more you see.

At a harbour Rick looks at the boats and leaves his car running, he knocks on a window a few times. He wants an ice cream, but the window is glaring from the sunlight so he just stands outside for a while gormlessly. His hair is in his eyes and he is slightly crouched, hiding within a big coat.

He drives to the end of a pier one-handedly and eats a mint ice-cream in a choco-waffle cone. He looks to his left; to his right; straight in front of him and to his right and there is a fifteen foot drop each way. All around him is water, a small cymbal is tingling within Rick's mind. He feels free: but not free like an albatross, not free like a tether-less kite, but free like an impotent man of four years, pulling back his foreskin and pushing forward with triumphant vigour. The cymbal rings like a screaming orgasm within Rick's mind for the rest of his journey.

He's not curious, he's bored as he drives into rich people's expansive driveways. He looks around but what he takes in is negligible. His thirst is the kind that cannot be quenched, he lives an easy life with all the friends. He needs nothing. At a cemetery he waves to a dog-walker, and in a council estate he waves to a black man. When Rick was a little boy his mother used to take him to the airport to wave at aeroplanes.

He goes to the hypermarket to buy some hot-cross-buns and to enjoy the all-day breakfast on a tray. He spends ten minutes comparing scents in the 'Air Freshener' aisle, he decides upon 'Marvellous Magnolia'. As he puts the packet into his basket he see's a group of five female colleagues. He catches their eyes, each one in-turn but makes no gesture of recognition. Heads straight for the 'Toiletries' aisle and picks up two cans of 'Lynx Africa'. After Rick leaves; at the self-service till; barely visible in the garishly lit store; the magnolia scented candle flickers hopefully.

As he walks out Rick farts and chuckles to himself as an older woman walks into the detonated area.

a morning

2010-02-25T12:51:00.000Z

Walking around the various corridors of the university looking for my classroom, I cannot but help feel a visceral sense of deep self-loathing. I talk to two females from my course but I've lost all of my batterys in my iPhone so I feel alone. I poke my head in most of the classrooms without apologising. I start to feel myself sweating; not because I'm late, but because my hair is not dry and has not had time to set, which I am conscious of. I take off my hoody and walk through a hall of people, ignoring my friends, later to say: "I did not see you" when questioned about it.

I concede that I cannot make my lecture, so I just go and eat some jerk chicken on pitta bread on my own in the canteen. With a glass of water, I notice someone I don't like in the room, so I glare at him with a small grin on my face; imagining a laser-guillotine slicing his head off with the precision of an ancient Egyptian architect. Then I think about using his head as a football and throwing his body in a stream, with a clackety wooden bridge over it, oversized daisys are scattered throughout the long grass that surrounds the bridge and lily pads float gracefully across the water bouncing off his severed ankle-joint (since I have already mutilated his left foot,and left it on display downtown in 'T-reds') before a young girl of six or ten interrupts this beautiful scene by shrieking cowardly and running home to her mummy who is smoking the last of her hash in a single skin with a pinch of two-week old tobacco. As this is all happening I am still staring at the guy, but my smile has grown to a maniacal leer. I feel my trouser pocket and I think for a moment that I have my phone back, but quickly realise it is just my raging hard-on.

In the library I decide that 'To Kill a Mockingbird' is too long to read, and check out 'Beavis and Butthead Do America" instead.

It doesn't matter.

2010-02-21T11:58:00.000Z

It doesn't matter that it is Saturday morning. It doesn't matter that the grass is green but the soil is browner. It doesn't matter that the sun is shining down hard. It doesn't matter that your mother and father are watching you. It doesn't matter that four guys are sat in a car smoking a spliff listening to Jay-Z. It doesn't matter that they hide from the ambulance driver. It doesn't matter that your team win 4-1. It doesn't matter that you're only sixteen and have blonde hair; when you have a broken collar bone and wont be able to masturbate dexterously for six weeks.

I wanna have sex with you, but first you've got to tell me something

2010-02-16T13:27:00.000Z

go to a party, drink some girls tequila, make some girls get off on the bed, get in bed with Andy, steal a white fur coat, piss in a sink, lock a girl in the cupboard and go to Club I. Dance for a bit, drink shots for a bit, avoid some chavvy looking girls at the bar and watch Rupert get his top off; which he later loses. get home, get high, watch Eastbound and Down, wank on webcam to south koreans chat roulette and go to sleep.

play football, win football, score a goal, play football lose football score a goal, play football, get kicked in the knee at football, score a goal, watch football, lose at football, smoke a spliff.

drive around the river Fal and chuck rocks at a big boat in the harbour, hide from the girls' car in a field and drive home. indicate right at a junction start to pull out and an exhibitionist on a motorbike screams past me with an alarmingly close proximity. drive home slowly, feel a bit shitted-up, imagine going to prison and getting bummed by some skinny man with tribal tattoos, a grade one and deep-set eyes, I start to feel queazy driving past people on the street as all of their heads turn into that of the bum-rapist-bald-wanker. I feel guilty for driving stoned and start to worry about whether I have STI's. I follow the cats eyes over the hills but I can only concentrate on some horrible scenario of getting my dick chopped off. That song by Boxcar Racer is on.

drive to Truro and drive around for ages, habitually not parking anywhere. get a sexy silver sparkly shirt, get an umbro tshirt and a one-pound ping-pong bat from Sport Soccer. then drive with Andy to find the GU clinic. get lost for ages, walk around in the rain, find the hut, sit in the waiting room drinking swimming pools of tap water, talking loudly about wanking in front of old women and concerned mothers. go in the doctor's room, talk about anal sex and needles, sit on a bed and get my nob out as two women busy-body around the ward, before massaging my balls and spearing my jeb-end with a small spike. my dick feels like Jesus carrying the crest of thorns. on the way out we smoke a spliff and get stuck in traffic.

in a bedroom, an Albanian is fucking a girl with big feet over the bed. he cums inside her pussy and she swells up, later on he makes it up to her by giving her three orgasms before shooting a modest amount on her breasts, because there is no time to aim at her face.

in a bedroom a Welsh girl is sleeping but her indie girlfriend is awake getting frustrated, the trendy girl still has her eyeliner on, smudged, from the night before and starts to go down on her sleeping partner. she wakes up and they mix fluids and drink each other up.

in a bedroom a married couple watch the chart show, the man is excited about the number one cos it puts him in a happy place, the lady is upset that Beyonce is not in the chart cos it makes her wet. they fuck like bunnies and the husband gives his beloved a pearl necklace to show his infinite affections.

in a bedroom a father comes home to find his son in bed with another male. the father's instant reaction is to lash out, he picks up the Bush 14" television set and throws it out of the window. the glass mostly falls outside but a small fracture rebounds into the room and gets caught between the father's big toe, the offending faggot takes this opportunity to dash for the door, he performs a three-hundred-and-sixty degrees spin to elude the bewildered mothers arms and dive through the oversized cat-flap (that is actually designed for their pet dog: Brucey)

in a bedroom it is a hotel and an ordinary couple are having rough sex, the headboard is banging Jarvis Cocker style and the bed is squeaking like a teenage boy doing an impression of a mouse. they take to the floor and the girl embarks on a journey of multiple orgasms, culminating in an earth-shattering pulse of energy causing her to cover her face with a towel and leaving them both astonished.

in a bedroom a child is washing glue out of his eyeball with a Boots own brand eye-bath. he had been trying to make a valentines present for his mother, by sticking a papier mache' love heart to a homemade pink card.

in a bedroom a man is stood at the window, wanking for the whole city to see. Mothers with push-chairs look up with regret, yearning for a man to masturbate for them personally. then they take their baby to a disabled toilet that has ran out of paper and proceed to clean its miniature asshole with their prized pair of satin gloves from Primark.

2010-01-21T17:34:00.000Z

Running, running through fields of glee,
So happy; content, just you and me.
A picnic basket, a carton of jam,
A love-heart shaped sandwich; mustard and ham.
Engrossed in conversation: tête-à-tête
With souls entwined, even before we met.

I kiss your puss under the glorious sunset
I touch your labia; I feel it sweat.

Misled souls Oh! Woe are we,
Divine intervention; a dream I see.
Purity, our love ‘tis but a sham,
Followers of sheep; we are but lambs.
An infatuation, as poisonous as lead[1]

Our passion; its waxy skin has been shed.

Lest we trick our hearts; so red,
I part with you my ejaculate, for now: I am dead.

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lead_poisoning

a basshunter

2010-01-07T13:08:00.000Z

Its me, Tom Acres and David Chappell outside the Langstone Cliff Hotel, smoking a spliff in the carpark. Were subzero; the water fountain has frozen over and a dog walker has pink and yellow striped mittens on her hands and a matching bobble hat and scarf. Trying to get a drink at the bar, but it takes ages, nobody is there to serve me. A polite elderly couple dressed for dinner inform me that there is a bell. I ring it twice. Nobody is there still. My throat is parched so I grab the big bronze jug of tap water and start to take a swig; at this moment Dave comes into the room laughing and a barmaid comes in and accuses me of stealing her water. Giggling and wiping the spilled water from my mouth, I tell her I want an orange juice with soda. For some reason she gives me an orange squash in one glass and another glass with lemonade in. I just drink them both.

Ask for a ping-pong ball and Dave immediately cracks it on the table so we walk past reception and crash out on the sofas to watch Celebrity Big Brother. Basshunter is just chilling in his suit - he's just come from a New Years Eve party in Kazakhstan - the International man of mystery. Dave comes back in from the toilet and says: "I've just thought, how easy it would be to be a terrorist." Josh says: "What do you mean". Dave replies "Just go into the toilet on a plane and smash the window so the plane crashes." Tom Acres: "They don't have windows in planes though". Dave pauses, before exclaiming: "Well just get something really heavy and start smashing the window in the aisle" as he says this he jumps up and down on his seat maniacally. Josh and Tom braking into laughter: "Where did this come from anyway" Dave, taken aback: "I was just in the toilet and the fan is so loud it felt like a plane, so I thought about being a terrorist".

We try to play ping-pong but the ball is still broken from before. They tell me I look like a tramp cos my hairs greasy as fuck, I've got a bit of pathetic unshaven stubble and my massive shit-stained jacket is far too big for me. I put on 50 Cent - Wanksta on my iPhone and play it out loud in my pocket and walk like a wigga into the hotel reception to ask for a new ball. The receptionist is nowhere to be seen and all of the hotel's management staff are sat around in a circle. The lights are dim, and it feels a bit like the mansion party in 'Eyes Wide Shut'. I'm actually banned from this hotel, so I turn around and leave rather than confronting my problems face on.

Tom Acres has so much ice on his windscreen that he decides to go down to the carpark in Dawlish Warren and do a few 180's on the ice. Drive to my house, but we get pulled over by the po-po; Acres is freaking out. The policeman tells us he followed us from the icy carpark, Dave tells him we watched Celebrity Big Brother earlier, and with a pitiful farewell: "Great" the policeman walks away from us.

After about six hours of persuasion Acres lets us smoke in his car. He keeps on telling us to listen to Moby, but we're not having it. Before going home to bed, Acres shows us this dodgy video of sex. There is a camera on the bellend and a camera inside the pussy. Its not pornography so I'm not interested.

Idea for a photo-shoot:

2009-12-31T00:29:00.000Z

Pretty brunette girl fornicates with a male stag, shot in a studio with an English Country Garden as a backdrop. Her hair is long and her eyes are big but her ass is getting pounded; the stag maintains brilliant posture throughout; his antlers point up to the sky, and the subsequent tiled-ceiling-panels. Degraded; the stag condescends to carry out this inhumane act of bestiality. Meanwhile Bambi is sat on a small three-legged stall bellowing orders for the cameraman to capture more of the scene's "intense humility".

Winter Wonderland

2009-12-23T12:42:00.001Z

Walk out of an office and slink down the road. Like a postcard from a ski resort; the ground is white. My socks are wet because my shoes are five years old and have holes (don’t feel sorry for me). It’s strange to see multiple tyre tracks gliding across the road smoothly colliding into curbs leaving behind the wreckage of 09 plate Mercedes Benz’s; wrapped elegantly around various lampposts of different shapes and sizes; as men and women in executive suits hang limbless out of the gap between the roof and ceiling where the door used to be, screaming “Why aren’t any of you lazy fucking grade E peasants helping me”.

On the tube a rough looking man with a purpose in his eyes is coloring-in the literature on the ceiling with a biro pen. He has long scraggy mousy-brown hair that curls outwards at his neck, fuzzy unkempt chestnut facial hair that fails to accentuate his strong jaw-line and a peculiar form of charisma about him that could equally suggest either charm or madness. He is wearing a huge amulet green jacket that’s pockets are filled with toilet-paper, chunks of cheese, empty bottles of Coca-Cola, second-hand socks, a psychedelic handkerchief and a stained pair of white pants. Showing everybody sat or stood up on the coach his Casio digital watch, he asks them all in-turn what the time is; taking each answer in contemplatively as if it brings new meaning every time he hears the phrase ‘seven O five’. He is stood up next to a seat that nobody will sit in.

it is easy to merge on freeways when you are the only one

2009-12-22T16:59:00.000Z

Driving down the motorway and you’ve already been awake for fifteen hours but you wont go to sleep for another twenty-five. You’ve been spending all day expelling all the energy from your brain on your own; in a room with a view. You’ve just filled up with petrol and slipped over from the ice as you run back to your car. You go inside the service station and gamble all your change on a poker machine, then you look at the food but KFC is shut so you just drink a can of Relentless as quickly as possible. In the toilet you are putting on a second pair of jeans to go with your t-shirt, long sleeved shirt, pullover jumper, zip up hoody and normal hoody. As you do this, a man comes in and looks at you accusingly; you are also carrying around your sleeping bag because-. The man thinks you are homeless and offers you a lift. You decline.

Back in your car and the heating is broken and the stereo light keeps flickering on and off, its only a minor distraction until the volume starts to fluctuate between deafeningly loud and quiet as fuck. Because your car heating is bust, your hands start to freeze over, circulation is sparse and coordination is impaired. Outside of the car is fog. You are unimpressed by six consecutive warning lights merely saying “FOG” – you are aware of the fog. You cannot see out of the windscreen so you lean over as close to the glass as you can, a back-spasm develops. You can just about make out the closest two cats-eyes in the middle of the road, and you follow them; this is your navigation system. Once the caffeine from the Relentless has worn off, your eyes begin to lose focus; you go almost cross-eyed as if you were trying to solve one of those 3-D optical illusions. Three hours happen.

You stop at another service station and eat an undercooked meatball panini. You see a flock of elderly people sat in the restaurant and it confuses you. Its not because its five AM in the morning that confuses you and its not even that they are at a service station in the middle of nowhere for a social chit-chat, but you are deeply disturbed by the sterility of their tables; none of them have ordered any food or drink whatsoever. You have trouble communicating with them, your words do not come out so you anxiously peer over your shoulder and drink another can of Relentless. A man tells you that it is minus seventeen degrees outside, but that just seems ridiculous.

Never, has a person regretted

Back on the road, you put Sonic Youth – Daydream Nation on and jump around, shaking viciously. Jacked-up on caffeine you think you are part of a budget chase film, but you are the only car on the road. Life and death are only an arm-jerk away from each other. You feel compelled to take control of your life.

As you drift from; motorway to roundabout to side road to bridge to bus stop to town center to pedestrian crossing to residential estate to petrol station to traffic light to railway crossing to driveway to bed; you are still physically awake.

()

2009-12-08T16:26:00.000Z

You know when you get that big hole in your stomach? The one when you have a huge daunting task in front of you or when you have to inform someone of bad news. Well that hole is in my brain.

sometimes on friday we go to truro

2009-12-05T13:25:00.000Z

In Truro, stoned, we walk around for ages with a blue balloon on a stick hitting stuff that we walk past like; grey men with beards, hot girls with bums, savage girls with babies and school children. We eat a burger and get our picture taken by the cheese lady. The cheese lady is very enthusiastic and she feeds us loads of yellow stuff. Then we go to a sports shop and some weird man pretends to work for Adidas, he has a white skin-tight lycra top on that says Adidas on it. But an Adidas top doesn't mean you work for Adidas so we dismiss him, and descend the escalator singing "Be My, Be My Baby".

Then we go to an estate agent and pretend to book a holiday to Jamaica. The woman says that Jamaica is better than a Villa in Ibiza because it is less 'chavvy' and then makes a gesture of smoking a spliff with her hands and her mouth.

In a room

2009-11-30T11:40:00.000Z

In a room; the lights are out, fairy lights are flashing, there are about a thousand different shaped tea-pots, mugs, cups and saucers on a table, each ceramic piece has an interesting and intricate design, there is also an empty can of Budweiser, a lonely bottle of gin and some people sat on chairs. The door has been barricaded with a sofa and all of the cushions; this feels like a dungeon and with every blink the dimensions of the room stretch and squeeze inwards and outwards, pulsating like the throat of a frog. The flash from a camera creates an image of the subject, a fragmentation of their soul in technicolor. Some people are walking around like the goblins from Noddy with spiky noses and pointed chins, whilst others have huge round heads with attractive over-sized eyeballs. Twenty minutes in this room feels like a whole evening and three hours is a weekend break in the Gaza strip.

A food fight happens and a girl with a giant black hat and red bow-tie smashes one of the saucers on a wall, there are cake crumbs everywhere and mulled wine is streaming out of a teapot's spout and dripping slowly onto a passed out girls cheek. It stains her pale skin crimson. In the toilet you think you are the BFG and your balls are sagging down by your ankles, they are small and withered and the end of your dick is drooping like a jelly babies ice lolly. People are cooking pesto in a miniature cake wrapper, the oven has dry pasta in it on full volume and next door's hedge is ablaze. Outside the house a blond girl is giving head to a stern-looking curly haired guy in a Ford Focus.

In a room; La Roux's "In For The Kill" is playing, distorted, through an Ipod, a short muscly black man is running around in a dress shouting: "Where is my phone" and thick firecrackers are shooting past the window like the end of the world.

Tab wants to talk to me

2009-11-27T16:43:00.000Z

Wake up at Andy's on a bodge-job-bed of two sofas sitting next to each other. I haven't been masturbating but my flies are undone. I get up and walk around the silent house on my own; my legs feel like putty and I stumble into walls and cupboards with my trousers dangling from my knees. It is 1:04 AM. After taking a piss and drinking copious amounts of water I eat four tomatoes from the fridge. Then I wake up Liz and Andy as I munch on a huge chunk of cheese. The cheese is too mellow. Dan thinks I drunk drove last night and didn't make it home. He's weeping because I have no reception. He thinks I'm in a ditch or something by the side of a road.

sat upstairs in the corner

2009-11-19T14:57:00.000Z

In a bar with Andy and there are swarms of underage girls sitting in all the seats. The girls are all around us, getting chatted up by older men, some of the girls are being chaperoned by their mother's. People are taking photographs of me and Andy; the flash terrorizes my head. We haven't bought a drink so we leave. Stumble around a pub looking for something to find, up the stairs and down the stairs and all around the stairs. There is a crowd of people watching us, as we shamelessly steal handfuls and handfuls of condiments; little sachets of Heinz Tomato Ketchup and Mayonaise. Our hands repeatedly grasp at the packets spasmodically, like one of those arcade-grabber-machines, but one that you can actually win, and you do win every time. Then a man comes and tells us not to steal because he is a dick-wod; I just look away, put another handful in my pocket and make some kind of manly gesture when his back is turned.

I wish it was the 60's

2009-11-16T14:48:00.000Z

The cinema has finished. It's raining loads and loads. Me and Rupert run away from Hollie Higgins to the car and in a moment of fright, she neglects to shut her bag and has to watch helplessly as her phone, her ten pound note, her receipts and her uni card float down a little stream and fall into a drain. When we get home everybody goes to bed and I fall asleep watching Bruce Almighty. Wake up at 3:50 AM, go upstairs, get undressed. Realise I want to masturbate, so go back downstairs get my laptop and go on pornhub.

Next day we go to the film festival and watch a film; in it a fifteen year old essex girl gets with her mum's boyfriend. The essex girl stalks the man and finds out that he has a wife and a kid, the essex girl breaks into his house, gets pissed on his beer and takes a piss in his sitting room; she squats and the golden fluid streams out on the carpet.

After the film I lose my phone and drive stoned with shades on around the roundabout near lydl about five times. Then I revisit the infamous "Newport" development and spy on a girl in glasses who is reading a book on her sofa. We wait outside her window peering in like creeps for about five minutes, reverse back, and then drive forward and look at her for a bit longer.

Eat some chili con carne drink some beer and go to a bar for a party. Have some drinks, keep an eye on Chloe, look at some girls, make bitter comments about some people, get a lift to Andy's from Wood and steal Sindle's bike. I give Dan a backy and we ride down the big hill on Dracaena Avenue; its fast as fuck and feels like a rollercoaster because the bike is clicking and feels unstable. Drunk and stoned we climb up Penryn highstreet and go to bed.

meat and bone

2009-11-13T14:13:00.000Z

For some reason I have a deep, unsettling pain in my brain. Mr T is trying to sell convection microwaves on the tele and I am trying to watch American Psycho on my laptop to soothe my nerves. It's Rupert's birthday, since the clock has struck twelve, and he has just gone to bed to cherry-bakewell Hollie Higgins. Everybody else is in bed and I feel compelled. I put on a blue jacket with a grey zip-up hoodie underneath it and start rambling around the streets of Penryn. It's raining outside and I find myself taking a piss into a stream standing on top of a bridge, there are trees all around me enveloping the moonlight because I am in a wood. I have my hood up and actually think that I can hear voices coming from all around me. So I scarper. I get lost walking around a housing estate and find myself at a brand-new set of apartments calling itself simply: 'Newport'. I don't brake into the apartments but instead find an abandoned farm with a dilapidated barnyard. I look at this for a while. Then a Car comes past so I pretend to be on the phone to somebody, because I feel a bit weird; stood here peering over a gate that has "STRICTLY NO ENTRY" emblazoned on it in multiple places and in a variety of different fonts.

I end up sat by the harbour, ignoring cars that drive past; pretending that this is a tranquil scene. The sky is cloudless and the moon and stars are out. Ruby red lights splinter across the surface of the river, (literal) electric blue rays reflect over the horizon, golden streams of energy emanate from artificial lighting, green beams of light dart though the air towards me like laser beams. All I can relate to this; a photograph.

I walk up the hill, although it is raining, I get sweaty and take off my top. When I get home I make a glass of water in a Tribute pint glass and sit half-naked in the fetal position listening to Taylor Swift - Love Story on repeat.

press ups:

2009-11-12T01:44:00.000Z

nine-hundred and ninety-seven... nine-hundred and ninety-eight... nine-hundred and ninety-nine... one thousand!

bed

2009-11-10T13:14:00.000Z

Get up and eat a cod liver oil pill and it tastes like rectum. Read some Academia and cook a cheese and ham toastie in the toaster. Contemplate the trampoline and check my facebook. Go to uni and steal some tickets to the Cornwall Film Festival and receive a £1.40 fine from the library, which I refuse to pay. Get Andy from his house and buy a pasty.

Drive around Cornwall and stop at a church to make a spliff, smoke it by the sea and throw some rubbish out of the car. Put on a monster mask left over from Halloween and a pair of aviators with one lens missing and recline my drivers seat. Drive around rural villages looking for rich girls to take us to their bedrooms and hide from policemen.

Watch 'There Will Be Blood' - a captivating performance from Daniel-Day Lewis I might add - eat sausage and mash with chicken stock and go to bed. Have you ever wondered why the word 'bed' looks like a bed?

Mkat kids

2009-11-07T11:55:00.000Z

You are at work, stood out the back, waiting for your pizza to be cooked so you can deliver it. Your friend is on the phone, he's at a festival, he sounds like he's having a much better time than you are, he tells you that he's been taking this new drug. You can't remember the name but it sounds like the stuff that you get in rehab, if your a junky coming off the smack. He says it feels like MDMA only better! And, that it is LEGAL, all you have to do is order it from this website and it only costs ten pounds a gram.

You are on facebook and it could be anytime over the summer holidays and your friend-cum-soon-to-be-housemate, sends a link to a website selling some legal drug, and he's raving about how good it is. You don't really take any notice of this.

You've moved into your new house, there is a fireplace and you have a pew in your sitting room. Term has begun, but nobody has any real work yet and you are planning a houseparty. You reckon it is gonna be massive, with hundreds of people, people that you don't even know. You want to make some money out of these strangers being in your house, so you plan to buy this legal-fake-MDMA and sell it on at twice the value. Your friend sends an email to the company with the order for ten grams of this 'Mephedrone' stuff, but you don't end up putting your debit card details in because a taxi turns up.

A week, or whatever later your friend comes round; its a Thursday night and you want to try some of the stuff before you buy. He gives you a few lines of this white powder, it tastes fizzy like you'd imagine washing up powder would taste. You down a can of beer and you can feel the powder mixing with the liquid, effervescing around your gums. You get a taxi to your mates house, who lives near town and everybody does some more lines of this Mkat. Sunny Day Real Estate is playing and you suddenly feel all loved up; you don't have a care in the world; where you are right now; this situation feels like bliss; your aspirations somehow seem fulfilled. There's about eight of you in the room, four dialogues blend into one, somebody is playing the guitar gently, everybody is smiling, everybody is talking frantically. There doesn't seem enough seconds in the day for everybody to get their point across, but everybody is listening to what everybody else is saying. You feel a surge of empathy rush through your body, through your bones, as people relate stories to you.

You walk down to the town in a big group arm in arm, like a bunch of faggots. You all tell each other, that you love each other a few times over. You get to a bar and the constant stories of each person's life enfold. Your friend buys in some shots of Sambuca and, in unison, you all whack them back. Your in an elegant bar and for the first time ever, of going there, you feel like you and your friends own the place. Some girls sit next to you, and your normal anxieties that inhibit you from talking to them have vanished from your soul. You get to chatting about, 'how frustrating they find it to be called a student' , what they think of the clubs in Exeter, who you know, that they also know, from an agricultural college in Devon. Although you wouldn't normally agree with what they say; tonight; you do. You invite them to your party, which is tomorrow night, and you get their number to let them know the details. When you leave the bar, one of your mates - deadly seriously, whilst taking a piss and you are stood right behind him - exclaims that you and him HAVE to double-team one of the girls, at your party.

You walk through the town, thinking to yourself that you want to chat up every girl that walks past you, but you are too engrossed in a conversation to bother with all that. When you get to the club, most of your mates have stopped in a phone box, but you know that they all have mobiles, so telephonic communication is not the reason for the pit stop. You don't feel any need to dance so you don't even bother venturing into the sweat-pit of a club. Instead you and your friends walk around outside talking to strangers about anything, bragging maybe, about 'how good your house is', telling them that you 'have a pond, a trampoline and a giant bedroom with a sink' probably hinting that they should visit your bedroom. But you get too carried away and forget that girls don't piss standing up and will not appreciate the joys of using the cold water tap as the flush in your make-shift loo. You catch your friend telling people about your plans for a secret online newspaper, that only that night; you had all agreed would be held with the utmost confidentiality. One of your friends, starts chatting up a policeman and a council worker, before doing one, and going home with a girl. You see loads of people from your course and then you go back to your friends for a spliff, the mixture of the weed and the Mkat makes you feel strange, you don't eat anything, you get a taxi back and then you go to bed.

Only two days later you are having a party and your house is massive, so it looks empty even though there is about thirty people here. You talk to a ginger girl and she wants to buy some weed off of you, but you don't have any, which she doesn't seem to understand. More people start to come, but you spend all of your time in yours or your housemates' rooms taking Mkat and having in-depth conversations about your past and how it has affected you in the present. You get five girls in your room, and inadvertently begin talking incredibly fast; showing them your floral design furniture; telling them that you planned to have a suitcase waiting ominously on the floor bursting at the seams with fake fifty pound notes, and that you think this would impress them and eventually lead to them falling in-love with you. Belle and Sebastian are playing on your stereo, naturally, but the girls think you are trying to woo them, so you just get them all on your bed and take a photo of it. For the duration of the night, you ignore all of the guests at the party, apart from your closest friends, who you snort lines of Mkat with for hours on end, recycling conversations of love and respect. You take a balloon of NOS and it feels lush, it reminds you of when, in year eight, you broke your collar-bone playing football and were rushed to hospital in an ambulance car, sucking on a tube of sugary 'gas and air'.
Later on you want to go to sleep, but everybody is in your room and talking too fast. You put Juno on and shut your eyes and ears.

The next day you sit on the sofa, saying not a lot, watching football all day and then you cook a ready meal; Lamb Moussaka with Garlic Bread. For two days your brain does not work properly and you have no depth of thought; creativity alludes you.

A few days later, you find some of the white powder on your desk, so you decide to gum a little bit before uni. In the lunch-hall you talk loads for about half an hour, you start singing "I wanna get freakay with you" and become embarrassed. In the lecture you want to run around.

The next week you have some friends from home visiting and you all do some Mkat and drink some beer, you go to your friends house party, but for some reason, decide to spend all the time in her room, without her. At the same time as this, your good pals are playing their first ever gig downstairs but you are not there supporting them. You go into town and spend no time whatsoever on the dance floor; instead you enjoy sitting down in the smoking area, embarking on journeys only, to a toilet cubicle for a line or to steal a drink from a table. You talk to some girls, you talk to your mates and are rudely interrupted by a group of chavvy looking kids who want to buy some drugs from you, you feel vulnerable and uneasy. You tell them the truth that you don't have any left, after intimidating you for a while, they leave and you tell your friend he's an idiot for trying to make money out of some random fucking guys in a club. You sit back down and your eyes start to lose their focus, it feels like when you see a depiction of drug-taking in a film; as you move your head the images sent to your brain blur and shake, like a time-lapse camera. You just about feel in control, but you do not feel comfortable, just remembering this feeling makes your head feel nauseous. You walk all the way home because you know you wont be able to sleep, your heart is pounding out of your chest, and it is actually audible to people standing close enough to you. In your house; three girls are lying on a sofa, they are not saying anything, two boys are doing the same. One boy is taking forty-five minutes to roll up a spliff. A couple is on the trampoline looking at the stars under a blanket touching up another boy as they make out. You think to yourself "What the fuck happened to us". You want to eat, but you are not at all hungry. Your stomach feels like a deep pit, your soul, right now, feels vacuous. You realise this is not good, you realise your group of friends needs to divorce the Mkat.

The next day you sit in a lecture room sniffing like crazy, gurning your face off and your head is swaying from side to side as your brain tries to go to sleep. You want a pair of shades because the lights seem unbearably bright, even though they have been dimmed considerably, and you also think that you might be able to visit the land of nod without being noticed under the cover of the sunglasses. Nothing. is taken. in.

You end up taking the stuff one more time, before selling the last of it for twenty quid. You go out, drink alcohol and have a lush night. The next day you drive to the city and you and your two friends enjoy a hangover immensely.

Achilles Heel

2009-09-14T15:28:00.000+01:00

A couple are arguing and the boy is threatening the girl physically. He has pulled her hair, and she has been crying for about three hours straight. She is trying to mute her shrieks of fear, but she can't hold it in when he suggests that she wants to have a threesome with her baby daughter and another boy or when he starts punching her leg and throwing baby toys around the room. NFL is on the tele and the geography of 'The Cardinals' team is discussed. Tesco Value ready salted crisps. Stale. No subscription to LA Muscle but there is protein shakes and steroids. Half-past-five in the morning and shaking from too many sugary alcopops. You get up and sneak out of the building, out of the door, through the corridor, down the stairs and out the front door. You start to run, your legs are achey and you are cold because you dont have a jacket on. After about ten minutes you start to sweat: alcohol. Your arms are wet, and sticky but in the morning chill the alcohol saturated sweat starts to tingle. You start to regret that Donner Kebab you had after the club, because with every five steps you can taste it in your mouth as you burp. You stick out a thumb half-heartedly at cars that drive past as you ascend a two-mile long hill. Nobody stops and this is the moment you appreciate each milliliter of petrol that you are going to use in the up-and-coming week. When you get to the stop of the hill, you think its easy, and you think you are nearly home. But it turns out that the hill takes considerably longer to walk down than it does to drive down in a 1.25 litre Ford car. On this walk, you think about beautiful things and you gain a different perspective on the past. You have a picturesque view of the sun rising over the cliff and beaming across the bay to a town across the estuary. The sky is glowing red and the fields of maize are fluttering in the breeze, with bits of tumbleweed twirling around like extinguished catherine wheels. The smell of nature evades you; the numbness of a hangover enfolds you. When you get to your house, you brush your teeth, repeatedly and fruitlessly to freshen your breath and then you pass out on your bed listening to Radiohead - Weird Fishes.

one thing knocks another thing into another thing that hits into something else before rebounding into...

2009-09-07T13:35:00.000+01:00

I have spent the last few weeks driving around Exeter City in the nights, knocking on doors and ringing buzzers, handing; boys; girls; mums; and dads their pizzas and hoping they will give me a bit of change for my efforts. And then I drive back to Dawlish and fall asleep on the sofa watching a film - if people are at the pub; I talk to some drunk people - and THEN fall asleep on the sofa watching a film. In the morning, I hold in a piss as long as I can, and then get up with a slight pain in my bladder, I walk past my mum and cant muster up any words because I am still asleep. After urinating, I waste some time on Facebook and MSN and then make a sandwich or eat three tesco-wheaabix with sugar and milk. Sometimes I have the food before I go on my laptop - but I always have orange juice.

thirteen

2009-09-04T12:10:00.000+01:00

Finish work and meet some people at a pub by the cathedral green, its; Matt, Laney, Royston, Emma Came and Luke Holman. We go to Timepiece and I don't get in at first because my wallet is in the car. Laney and Matt get into salsa dancing and I leave. I meet a woman by the cashpoint as I'm waiting for Dave to come, she has blisters on her feet, messy hair and a Devonshire accent, she is waiting for her mate to come back from the bush with her duvet that she stashed in the morning. She is waiting for to go and sleep in the underground carpark. Dave turns up and he's beeping his horn. He's got a massive grin on his face and Alex England is riding shotgun. I look down at his fog lights and cracked bumper and see what looks to be a small paw hanging out the front. I look closer and there is a bit of, what appears to be, minced meat hanging next to the paw. Dave comes out and explains he has stuffed a dead rabbit into the broken bumper, and then England gets out and starts showing me pictures and videos on his phone of the rabbit getting its head cut off in the car boot.

The next day Dave is devoid of energy and throwing up constantly, he thinks its from an onion bahgee, but it turns out that its from a bit of the rabbits gut that shot into his mouth when he beheaded the rabbit. He stays in bed all day and we don't go to Falmouth.

In the evening we get drunk, smoke some spliffs, listen to some Leftover Crack, gum some MDMA, eat some pate on toast with cucumber and the house is a fuck-pit.

In the morning we get Darryl and go to Woodlands and scream on the mechanical rides, shout CUNT on the waterslides, scream BARRRNES everywhere and play boys against girls manhunt. The boys win maaate, and we get a romantic ice cream in Dartmouth. We get the ferry across the estuary and then take Darryl home. Me and Ellie get a KFC, well she watches me eat one, and then we play ping-pong at the Langstone and she's quite good, although she gets too cocky and I win the match and run-around the Verandah room with my top over my head, like a football celebration, screaming and shouting.

In the evening we go to Cockwood and climb under the bridge to sit by the sea, and although we had sentimental intentions it ended up in us throwing rocks at a team of swans.

England is a liability

2009-08-28T13:47:00.000+01:00

Me, England, Dave and Imogen go to the doctors for a family day out. Dave chucks England the keys to his car and England decides to try and rev the engine as a joke to wind up Dave. Something bad happens and the car is already in gear. England is panicking and the car starts to move forward and it stalls, but does not stop. England cant get his feet to the pedals to put the brake on and he doesn't use the handbrake and the car rolls slowly and pathetically into a grass bank in the doctor's surgery car park. It is bad though because there are rocks embedded in the grass bank and they have smashed Dave's metallic blue front bumper. It is a weird thing to happen and Dave punches the side of his bonnet in frustration and it dents. The dents go well with his cracked windscreen, fractured perspective.

We sniff around town trying to find metallic blue escorts with nice bumpers to steal, but we cant find any. Then we go for a drink with Dave's mum at the White Hart. Get drunk around Dave's and get a train to Exeter to see Leftover Crack. I'm so drunk that I don't remember what is happening. There is a lot of people and I am running around in a circle frantically with only one shoe on singing "from town and town and state to state the same old song you love to hate" in a grizzly voice as if I have a sore throat or something.

Something weird happens and the gig is finished and I've lost everybody. I am walking around with one shoe, on my own, around the back streets of Exeter. I hang out with some pretty cool Sweedish guys for a while and see the support band outside with all their gear - or actually maybe the Sweedish guys are the support band - I'm not sure. I end up at Timepiece and everybody is there. Sit with the Lovell, Ema Came, England and Dave for most of the night and don't get a raj. Get picked up buy Antoni Banning and don't have a spliff.

Go to bed and wake up with a broken toe.

another wednesday night

2009-08-27T11:53:00.000+01:00

Visit the Chappell household; its me and Alex England. They are having a family meal, discussing relationships and that sorta thing. We have a chat outside by Dave's car and I get B Chappell's number. England starts texting her whilst me and him play ping-pong. When we have exhausted the fun out of table tennis we cruise around the Warren; we drive around the car parks for a while then check out the gamblers. There are loadsa lifeguards in the sea, looking like faggots. There are loadsa holiday makers cramping up the pathways, less bored than us. Next, we hit up Gerald's Convenience Store and discuss the pizza selection with Terry Simmons before buying nothing whatsoever. Then we go back to Langstone and force some young children to put the football on for us.

Drive around Dawlish peering in through the window of all the fast-food outlets, with the engine idling, looking for somebody we know to give us free food. No avail. Go to Teignmouth instead and get a Tesco Finest Chicken Jalfrezi. Eat this at home as England talks to girls on facebook and I watch Deathproof. Then he goes home and I try to watch Eyes Wide Shut again, something to do with the dialogue affects me, deep-down. It makes me feel strange and then I masturbate.

funny rabbits

2009-08-26T17:03:00.000+01:00

Spend a night watching football, playing football, losing a football, talking to the toilet cleaner, getting a macdonalds, going dogging, chasing bunny rabbits, running over bunny rabbits, listening to bunny rabbits squealing and seeing them spasm in the middle of the lanes as bunny rabbits fight for their last breaths of life. We look at the insides of bunny rabbits, we look at the brains of bunny rabbits, we look at the intestines of bunny rabbits, we spit at bunny rabbits. We feel bad for bunny rabbits who have a broken left leg and limp around the lane, too weak to run away and too scared to look around. We feel bad for bunny rabbits that have been ran over twice in one night, but are still alive. We feel bad for bunny rabbits that are shellshocked into hanging from their skin half way up a hedge, spiked by brambles, in the middle of nowhere. We feel cold so we turn the heating on and shut the windows and we are fine.

rock'n'roll deal with it

2009-08-24T01:08:00.000+01:00

Brake into the Carlton Hotel and like espionage we sneak into the swimming pool and spa. Ellie pretends she is offended by the little kids company in the sauna because she cant take the heat. She also pretends that her shower isn't working so she has to come into my one. Afterwards we get a chocolate sundae on the seafront and a greasy haired man wolf-whistles at girls walking down the street. I eat loadsa chips and so does Ellie then we gamble but I lose.

Rules of Attraction isn't boring enough for my liking, and then there is pussy everywhere - curiosity killed the cat. I wear a dress and I think I look sexy, but Ellie won't talk to me so I wear a pair of sporty white shorts with an open pink striped top that is so ugly it almost makes me look unsexy. We have fishfingers for tea without ketchup and I try to take pervy pictures but I'm not very good at photography. Dave and England turn up and the mood gets really romantic. Alex England tries to sniff Ellie's bikini and then we watch the film Desperado. In it; a man has a belt with a penis shaped gun on it.

nice day out

2009-08-24T01:03:00.000+01:00

Get up early and we drive to Spitchwick. Get some meat to eat on the way at Tesco in Newton Abbot. At Spitchwick the water is freezing and our barbecue is a dud. We steal a big disposable barbecue from a family, and throw it in the river when we are finished with it. We bark at some girls and they leave. Me and Matt and England go down the rapids. They have nice rubber rings but I have two pathetic inflatable helicopters. I put my left leg in the pink one and my right leg in the baby blue one and start to go down the river. As soon as the rapids start I fall back and start flailing around with my legs spread apart, with no control I flow down the river careering over rocks and boulders, cutting up my legs and bruising my bum. At the the bottom of the rapids I begin to cry and get out of the water. When England and Matt are not looking I do one and run all the way back to Dave and Laney with an inflatable helicopter around each of my two arms.

After Spitchwick we go to the River Dart Country Park. We don't pay because Alex England knows everybody, everywhere we go, so we tell Cameron that we're having a free visit to the park. We chuck rocks at ducks, climb the spiderweb and shout at little kids. Dave does a wheel spin and the families around us are a bit stuck-up. On the way back we don't see Acres, but later find out he had driven all the way there and back on his own without seeing us.

In the evening-time we go to the Langstone and watch the football, its a bit boring and Tom Lane goes home afterwards. We get England from his work and there is a bit of trouble. Elliot Tucker has been shooting his mouth off around town telling people hes head-chef at the Smugglers. "Oi Elliot why have you been telling people your head-chef" says Alex. Elliot smacks his hands on the bar, a bit pathetically and with a voice of indignation says: "I can't take this bollocks anymore" and storms out of the room with a rigid posture, he looks a bit robotic, just less graceful. Some ginger bitch woman and a spic cunt named Paulo give us some shit. We leave and England will quit the next day.

At Dawlish Warren Dave is getting annoyed waiting for his mum so he smacks his windscreen and it smashes. It is an idiotic altercation and we go to Tesco 24 hours after and then go dogging.

Apathy is defeat

2009-08-07T00:40:00.000+01:00

Dave and Imogen have been running strong for years. It is two-thousand and fourteen and they are engaged with the wedding coming up in October. October the thirty-first. Darryl is lined up to be the best man, and he meets up with Imogen quite alot. They start to have coffee on Wednesday afternoons whilst Dave works at the Co-op. They start to have drinks at The Old Firehouse on Tuesday nights whilst Dave practises ping-pong at the Langstone Cliff Hotel. They start meeting up for sex whilst Imogen tells Dave she is getting her nails done at Jeannies of Knightsbridge on Sunday afternoons.

One Monday morning Dave is not happy because Imogen was supposed to meet him for drinks at The White Harte with her new nails. He isn't very observant, and never notices that her nails are rough and specky but he is observant enough to notice when she doesn't turn up at all. He phones Darryl to play ping-pong but he doesn't answer either so Dave gets a bit pissed off and drives around to Darryl's house with his newest white Ford Escort.

Dave is banging on the door hard because he can be a tad impatient at times. Darryl is banging hard on Imogen because he is close to climax. He hears the door and panicks and stops mid-ejaculation. Running to the door, semen shooting out on the carpet, he rushes to look through the peephole. He see's Dave, he see's the anger in his eyes and it triggers a pulse of shock through his body which causes another burst of cum to pop out of his bellend and stain his black door milky. He grabs his Calvin Classics, puts them on, ignores the stain on his crotch, thinking it could be construed as piss, and opens the door. Dave rushes in, brushing past Darryl and heads straight for the stairs. He trips up on a small wet patch at the top and falls through the half-open doorway to find Imogen curled up in a ball, naked, vulnerable, pale in the corner of the room. She is facing the wall and wont look at Dave even though she knows he's there. He grabs her by the hair and yanks her head towards him. He sees a bluey-purple patch on her left cheek bone and Imogen begins to weep helplessly. Dave runs straight back out of the door, neglecting to comfort her and jumps down the stairs, as he lands his ankle twists but this doesn't slow him down. He heads for the utility room and is rummaging around in the dark, small cave under the stairs. He is inches away from the chain-saw when the doorbell rings again. The door is still open from before and Tom Acres strides through the hallway, Imogen is crawling down the stairs howling like a sick puppy, her bruised face scrunched up with her fringe sticking to her bloodshot eyes. Tom looks at Dave and immediately picks him up by the throat, he pushes Dave up against the wall and repeatedly pummels his face working down to his stomach. With every punch Tom can feel Dave's organs convulsing, his jaw is jarred and bits of sick and blood are spewing out, ricocheting off of Tom's tensed stomach and landing on the black door coagulating with the semen stains from a moment ago.

Darryl flees in fear but before he has finished dragging his lanky left leg through the discharged doorway he is confronted by Sam Davies sprinting into him on his bad knee screaming "BAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRNNNNNNNNES". Darryl is dumbfounded and starts itching his greasy head, he stumbles around in a circle with his stupid mouth open emptying his already vacant brain of any sense of meaning. He sees Ian Mitchell bouncing down the street like a stumpy space-hopper with a pint of Tribute in his hand muttering "You just wait, I'll fucking kill ya bah... Yeaaahhh" in a hoarse voice that doesn't offer any comfort to anybody. Sam Davies heads straight for Imogen, carries her into Darryl's room and starts pounding a ping-pong ball into her pussy with his forehead yelping "Barnes.. Barnes.. Barnes.. Barnes" rhythmically. Mitchell smashes his pint of Tribute over Darryl's head and runs up the stairs to turn off the "fucking gothic music" that is blaring out of Darryl's speakers. He can't find the remote so he simply throws both of the speakers out of the window, the first hits an elderly woman on the head, and she falls to the floor like a big oak tree at the mercy of an angry beaver. TIMBERRRRRRR. the second lands in the pond as the last words "These dreams are calling me" of Ian Curtis are being drowned out by the splish splash splosh. Mitchell then heads back downstairs to deal with Tom, ignoring the bizarre scene taking place in the corner of Barnes and Imogen. Tom has fled the scene, leaving Dave to bleed in the utility room, with a golf club boarding the door shut. Like the Orphanage he does not escape. Mitchell does a line of coke, does a one-eighty on Darryl's skateboard and runs to his Mini Metro and wheel-spins off brushing past Michael Tutty in his racing striped red and white car. This is not an exit.

a traffic light that spells out the letters GLADSTONE ROAD

2009-08-04T12:19:00.000+01:00

Tonight we are going to the carnival; me and Darryl. At my house I am drinking a bottle of rose whilst trying to cook a chicken stir fry for everybody. Darryl is walking around scratching his head with his mouth open, can of budweiser in his hand, telling me he doesnt like my sister's friend. My sister is drunk, sat on the sofa with a bottle of red wine banging on about some boring reggae band called "Freddy is eating a Fat fish" or something equally as ridiculous. My sister's boyfriend is sitting on the chair, he looks quite pissed, but he's not shouting his mouth off like the rest of them. My sister's friend is sat on the other chair, she is really drunk, she is coming out with a lot of crap, but she is getting along very well with Jemima, so I forgive her for her bohemian aspirations. Jemima is stood up on a stool calling out a fictitious register, to make sure that all of her imaginary friends are present in her made-up school. My mum is sat in the 'studio' drinking a bottle of budweiser with her friend Sarah. Her friend Sarah is sat in the room with my mum talking about pictures of Northern Australia on her digital camera (not an SLR)

Mitchell is at the carnival looking menacing with his freshly shaven grade-one, but Darryl doesn't even recognise him. Matt, Acres, Stefan and Dave arrive, but something happens and me and Dave have done one, out of the rain, into a white tent and we are with Imogen and Ellie now. We go back to Dawlish and hang around the happy huts for a while. Go to the Lansdowne and spot Dave Chappell senior's bald head dancing on the tele. Go downstairs and jump around to an old school ska band, acting as if its a proper gig. Outside we try and rob the bakery, its; me, Dave, Dave Chappell senior and Dave Chappell senior's twin brother. We each get a chocolate muffin. I scoff mine down fast leaving a trail off crumbs down the road to my house like Gretel did.

Horrible headache, from mixing wine and beer, in the morning. I drink, about the the capacity of the mediterranean sea, in tap water to try and rehydrate my brain. No football because of the rain. Today. I do nothing, apart from read a few chapters of Glamorama, have a bath, watch Big Brother's Little Brother and have a prepatory wank. Then I pick Darryl up from Matt's and take him to his house on my way to work. At work I do twenty-four deliveries, I get over a tenner in tips and will have earnt almost forty-quid in wages. Go home, watch some films, and it is one of the best nights in ages and ages.

In the morning Imogen is pestering us for some baccy. I see Dave in Co-op. I cook a quick stir-fry before work and go around Darryl's after to play xbox.

England wakes me up, about three times ringing me saying he wants to find some 'clunge' down at the warren but I am not interested. I talk to my mum about the magic tongue, the colon and the capital P. I have a poo and get engrossed in a thrilling chapter of Glamorama that goes on for ages, and subsequently ignore a few more calls from England. He comes around my house and interrupts my reading session so I have to go out. I get some petrol and a big can of Relentless - Juiced Energy and take it to the Langstone. We play table tennis and talk to a couple kids there. We find out all the gossip of the Langstone residents community and I throw a tennis ball at this kid, our new mates dont like this kid. England keeps on shouting "Oi Slut" at this twelve-year-old girl, she looks like an out of date emo kid and he tells her to "come over 'ere" but she either doesn't hear his calls or more likely, chooses to ignore them.

Dave comes to work with me and hangs around outside in the rain before he gets a train home. Work is rubbish because no pizza-eaters are about so I go home at ten. Play on an It-Box and then have a spliff with Dave, Bianca and Ryan Chappell.

pestering people on the street with Dominoes leaflets

2009-07-31T12:00:00.000+01:00

At mini-golf in Paignton Dave keeps on standing behnd Imogen as she takes a shot and she doesn't like it. Usually,when stood behind a girl, he would be making gestures with his hands and tongue towards her ass. But for some reason he isn't doing that today. Ellie hits a ball out of the stadium. Some chavs shout at us from the outside world. Dave wins the round by ten shots. And I set off an alarm on the final hole because I am so good.

We get a KFC, have a gamble and ride on the Waltzer; where I pretend to have an epileptic fit to attract attention. Back in Dawlish; Tom Acres isn't happy.

The morning after I pick up England from a girls house, we get Dave and play table-tennis. After an embarrassment of a contest between England and me, he rings up another girl and arranges to meet her tonight because he thinks he is a player.

We go to The Waterfront; me, Dave, Matt and Laney, where we meet Emma and Karis. It is a melee of insults, smashed glasses, flying pizza slices, inebriation, disrespected authority and a pepper-head. Dave is taking the piss and we are forced to leave. At Georges all we hear is "yeahhhhh you wud say that" and "you..you are a...WANKER" in a faux Devonshire accent. Dave. He tries to fight everybody we walk past, chucks a wooden pole at the Quay carpark, falls into a few bramble bushes, holds the horn down in the car, jumps out of the car in traffic and runs around the road screaming like a lunatic. He causes; Polish people to chase us in reverse in their car; a leak in my ceiling; a sign to be broken in half and put in the back of my car; and some cuts and bruises to appear on his arms and legs.

Dominoes Pizza mess me around for a whole evening, before re-employing me. I start work the next day, and I am a 'delivery expert' now. The last delivery I do, I get lost. I'm sneeking around a dark and gloomy alleyway, feeling a bit vulnerable, knocking on doors looking for number two St Davids Terrace, after three knocks on a house with number two on the door, somebody answers and tells me that she lives at number two North Road. I snoop around for a bit more, I climb into three peoples gardens to try and find the house, and the thrid garden is the right one. The man seems friendly untill he tells me that the Chinese woman he spoke to on the phone "SHOULD LEARN TO SPEAK FUCKING ENGLISH", then he gives me a two pound tip - a sort of repentance for his sin.

Back in Dawlish Barnes is drunk in the Lansdowne with cocktail sticks in his hair, swastikas, swear-words and pictures of penises all over his body, he has "I love cock" written on his shaft and the barmaid pours coca cola down his face. He goes to the toilet, cleans his face and comes back without mentioning it. As if by ignoring something, you can stop it from existing.

there are worse things you can do than kill a person

2009-07-27T18:49:00.001+01:00

You are driving a car - it could be red, yellow, blue, silver, automatic, manual, turbocharged, heck it could even be a reliant robin with three wheels - it doesn't matter what the car is but you pull upto a junction. You want to turn right to get to somewhere, anywhere. You look right and the road is clear. Your right indicator is on and you can hear it clicking in rhythm with your heartbeat. You look left and the road is clear. You start to release the clutch with your left foot and push down on the accelerator with your right foot. You edge out into the road and turn your head to the right-BEEEEEEEEEEEP a loud klaxon reverberates through your brain. A car swerves at high-speed and narrowly misses your bonnet. You slam your foot on the brake, instinctively. You ignore the clutch and the car stalls. Your right indicator is still clicking, but only at a quarter of the speed of your current heartbeat. Time slows down. Bullet-time. You dont feel anywhere near as cool as Neo from The Matrix, but that is what you are reminded of.

You try to calm down and relax, because the scare is over, but it is not. You are not in a car. You have not been close to a fatal car-crash. This is your life. This shock does not fade. Your stomach feels vacant. Your soul is weeping. You are not scared of heights and your are not stood on the peak of Mount Everest, but you feel nauseous beyond relief. Muddled thoughts corrupt your mind and it hurts to think. Crying causes catharsis but it doesn't cause calmness.

This is not the time for art.

when one add one add one still equals one

2009-07-25T01:31:00.000+01:00

Like most other days in my life at the moment; nothing of interest happens. I drive around with England, throw some rubbish over a fence, gamble, kick a football aimlessly at fences and metal garages that make loud noises. I eat some food, drink some fluids, wash my body, do a poo, masturbate with the cat in the room. I cut some of my hair, I read some chapters of a book, I watch South Park in the night, I text my friends, I gamble some coins, I kick a football aimlessly at noisy surface-OH I've already done that today. I sit down on the floor in the kitchen, it is not comfortable for me because I cannot cross my legs. I am not a spastic, its just that my muscles are un-supple, probably due to the amount of walls I used to jump off for no reason as a kid. I sit in the kitchen. I sit infront of the washing machine, my retina pulsates in a cyclical motion, like how those googly eyes on joke birthday cards move. When the washing machine cycle is finished, I shuffle backwards and look up above the washing machine. Above the washing machine is the tumble dryer; a little more strained my eyeball follows the load around and around and around and around... when the clothes are both clean and dry, I put them on and sweat and spill drink and stain them with ejaculate untill the process needs to be repeated. Only this time I might watch naked whilst doing countless sit-ups, or I may look at the washing machine through a mirror to displace my repetitiveness.

never eat shredded wheat

2009-07-24T00:14:00.000+01:00

At the pub; me, Darryl and Dave are. We are playing pool, and listening to the jukebox. The Cure comes on and I sing a little bit. Like an un-tuned banjo. There is a doggy-woggy in the pub. There is a bar-woman in the pub. There isn't a lot of people in the pub. After tea; I get Ellie, and we climb through Acres' garden. We drink some beers and play football and go to the beach. Laney wants to go home for 'tea' or some other bullshit excuse. An orange football ends up in the river, and a Dawlish Delights box ends up on the road. A brown, almost-empty-apart-from-the-dregs, bottle of Tyskie ends up in the flowers. We end up on Stockton Hill; we end up seeing England and the other Darryl. Dave ends up spitting on our Darryl. I end up at Ellie's. A snail ends up dead - due to an idiotic altercation, featuring alcohol.

In the morning I talk to my mother and sister about their holiday and Darryl comes around. Camembert sandwich. We go into Dawlish Town and we see Mitchell. Dawlish Darryl Delight. We see Jay Pierce, so all the celebs are out today.

Two nights ago we met some dirts in the Ladies Mile campsite. They were from Bristol, they were stupid, they were average looking, they were blond, they were with a troll, they didn't know what Hitler did wrong, they didn't know that Skins was broadcast to the whole nation, they thought that Skins was reality television. Robert Dobbin pulled a whitey.

Me, Dave, Darryl and Laney get a nice pizza by the quay but we have no cash. Luke Holman comes down, and we spy a Russel Crowe-turned-tramp lookalike drinking Sainsburys branded cider. We watch him for a while; he occasionally uses his hands as binoculars, to perve on I dont know what; he repeatedly laughs to himself; he insists on putting on an ACDC bandana. We talk to him and he thinks we are all vampires trying to drink his blood. He believes that the best drugs come from London Town and he reiterates the importance of being pro-active in this cyclical reality.

It is back in Dawlish, and it is; me, Laney, Acres and Dave. We are walking around the cliff. We bump into Dave's sister in the hut smoking and drinking. Not even rebellion. Bandstand Dave is there and he keeps on bursting into beatbox for short intervals, almost at random interrupting peoples dialogue. There is an argument about women and men, it is ridiculous because some people are trying to posit that women are stronger, mentally, than men. Moral fibre.

At home my sister and her boyfriend are watching some kind of sick, eccentric big brother programme with stupid people sitting around a table eating and singing to a stupid dinner. On closer inspection it is a film, and they tell me it is called Beetlejuice. Laker is ill and Magda likes Frank Turner and I am going to bed.

where's my slice of cake

2009-07-21T12:09:00.000+01:00

Ellie wants to play football, so we go to the astro turf. She is shit at football tennis, because she keeps hitting the net. Then she goes in goal, she starts to think shes good because I'm giving her a chance. She gets a bit cocky, so I start blasting the ball like a cannon out of my foot at her. I score loads of goals and bruise her leg. I leave the pitch feeling accomplished.

We make some music on garageband, and she teaches me what a flat note is, but I've forgotten already. We watch Harry Potter one, and the kids all look like idiots; Harry with his stupid floppy hair and glasses, and Hermione with her weird little head being engulfed by her mane of massive hair. Smoke twos on a rolly to try and be cool. Twice. Watch Blades of Glory.

Go around Dave's and he's watching Jurassic Park two on his own with the lights out. I join him in bed and we have a Tesco Value frozen Cottage Pie with cheese on top. It is cooked inthe microwave for six minutes, left to stand for one minute, agitated and then cooked in the micrwave for a further two minutes. This is where the cheese is added and then it is put under the hot grill for three-to-four minutes for melting purposes.

Get up watch Big Brother repeats, watch T4 on the beach and write two articles for the student paper. Go around Darryl's and he tells me to put my top on, but his mum doesn't mind. Get Josie, have a spliff by the quay, buy tickets, gamble and win eight quid from one pound - but annoyingly it is her pound and she gets the eight quid! Watch the film and eat popcorn and coca cola without paying. Finish watching the film and eat Raj without paying. Go down to Polsloe and have a spliff without rolling it. Take Josie home and get a book.

Get Darryl, drive back to Dawlish in the middle of both lanes with no lights on, following the cats eyes and listening to Radiohead - Weird Fish. I explain to Darryl how the song is about Le Shark swimming around, chasing all the weird fish in the sea and eating them. Go around Acres' and giggle at Jim Carrey in Yes Man, and fall asleep through Sexy Beast. Wake up on the sofa and get up, run directly to my car and drive home as fast as I can with the heating on. Rush to my kitchen and force down crisp after crisp after hula after hoop untill two packets have been devoured in a matter of seconds. Move on to the milky bar kid and then to a Gu chocolate tiffin. Fall asleep without doing my teeth.

Wake up and have a double egg sandwich before driving to Acres' house. We play football and I win because I am a class act. Darryl is an apathetic turd. Go back to Dave's and he insists on repeatedly running into his room in different outfits, comprising of; him just in boxers; him with a guitar, some shades and a little hat, looking like Pete Docherty; him naked with talcum powder; and him raging with tomato ketchup all over his face and body wielding a high-powered chainsaw, also with the shades on. Me and Dave watched American Psycho a few nights ago.

We go and play golf and I am atrocious today. We hit balls all over the course screaming FOUR every few minutes, but really we don't want the other players to dodge the ball. Fifty balls down and minus three cartons of strawberry ribenas, a packet of chocolate balls with crunch and a whole packet of pringles, we leave the golf-course.

Cook Pizza at Acres' house, but Darryl has no clue. Dave keeps on rolling around the laminate flooring with his bum out leaving skid marks and talking about Imogen Acres' knickers in his mouth. We watch tele untill Acres kicks us out. Drive Darryl home out of the kindness of my heart and buy some pasta in Tesco twenty-four-hours. Get home and I haven't washed since Saturday so I have a wank.

people have too many borders

2009-07-18T16:21:00.000+01:00

I am suffering from a red-bull comedown. I try to wham the ham, but my cat wont leave me alone; so I decide a pussy is a pussy and start humping it.

cut some wood with an axe

2009-07-16T13:28:00.000+01:00

Sort my back out. Eat a Sloppy Giuseppe pizza. have a bath: wash. Farewell to my Father, Sue and Izzy. See Robin outside Tesco and buy a ham sandwich with ready salted crisps and mineral water. Drive for ages, take one wrong turn. Stop at a service station but the petrol part is closed, so I have a gamble, I win six pounds, buy some lockets, tell myself I am only going to gamble twenty pee more. End up putting the six quid into another machine and lose. Drive to the next service station and fill up the tank. Phone Dan and arrange to meet him. M4.

Get off the motorway in Bristol and end up at 'The Mall' and 'The Venue', its like Plymouth times America. Drive to Dan's and end up outside Chinky Dave's Fish and Chips on the phone to Rupert. I tell him how last night, I went out with Magda in London and met a gay kid from Facebook at "London's [self-proclaimed] Premier Gay Club". I tell him that three faggots were bumming in a cubicle behind me. I tell him that their dancing was sick, and more gay than mine. I tell him that the guy was really friendly and had a gang of gays who bounced around the town communicating in an almost foreign manner. I tell him that we did one because we had no money. I tell him that we catch loadsa buses. I tell him that we went to Hyde Park.

I see some gangsters walking about in the middle of the road, I drive to Dan's and he says the G's are his mates. He gives me some Spaghetti Bolognaise; its nice and spicy and his room has its own shower and backdoor. We go to his mates and they are stoned as fuck. They start spittin some lyrics and blaze on, but I need to get home to say goodby to my mother before she goes to France. Drive back really fast singing Jamie T.

Hug my mum, buy some vodka and Red Stripe. Go around Laneys. We go down to his local pub, there are two in Cockwood, but he is banned from the good one. This one seems alright, the barman is quite friendly. Dave and Darryl argue about crisps, an old wanker tells Karis to "shhhh" with the two fingers over his lips and everything. Dave and Darryl pretend to have a fist fight; five old men come over, looking important, they dont do anything really. They accuse us of hatching plans to steal their bikes and tell us 'our' women have big gobs on them. Now Laney is banned from both pubs in his village. Back at his we play Ring of Fire and Darryl is a Cunt. The girls have to drink, almost every card and we have not even started fixing it yet. Darryl goes to be sick, so Smithy puts him to bed like a young boy, too exhausted to stay up late with the adults.

We hide all the cards so their are only Aces left, because we want Laney to play guitar. He sings Libertines - What a Waster, what a fucking waster, Karis falls inlove. We put on Choking VIctim, Sex Pistols and Ramones on full volume and dance like morons in the living room. We take our tops off and fight - Smithy does the headbutt. We have a rolly brake, and I smoke one to try and fit in. We ring the bell and its really loud and really late. Me and Matt have a little scuffle and he ends up biting my bum and we hug and kiss. "I cant take my eyes off of you" is playing and for some reason I think of shisha, acoustic guitar and room seventy on the third floor of Maritime. In the morning, glass is smashed everywhere, it is cold and everyones head feels like shit, apart from Royston who got some cock and didnt get drunk.

At home I read a book, have a bath, eat a ham sandwich, but only a foldover, because there was only one piece of bread left - apart from the enf of the loaf, but I hate the end of the loaf. Walk down to the beach. Windy. Kick the ball at Emma on the lawn and she gets a train with Karis. See Dave at work in the Co-op and he is polite to customers. Me and Darryl hang around a group of French kids playing football like creeps. Darryl gives one of the girls their jumper and almost goes in for the kiss. They leave and are swiftly replaced by a middle aged couple, running around kicking a massive inflatable green and white patterned football. The man fell off the wall, onto the mud, but the woman walked around the path.

The football goes in the stream loads of times and we walk to my house. Maisy the cat is under my bed and Jemima cant lure her out. Dave says he wants to hang Maisy so Jemima hits him loads and slams the door at him. Beat Darryl at Pro Evo easily around Daves and then go to the Langstone to play ping pong. I eat some chips and a cheeseburger on the patio outside the table tennis room. Drive Darryl home, beep at the Mount Pleasant, get his phone from Laney's. Go to Tesco, where I buy nothing. Listen to Belle and Sebastian - If You're Feeling Sinister on the way home. Watch Southpark and do my teeth.

orangina and vodka in a two litre bottle, but only half full

2009-07-16T12:38:00.000+01:00

I am awfully worried because I am already fifteen minutes late to meet Magda, and I have only just left the house. I get to the bus-stop and ascertain that I have missed the bus by two minutes; my body goes into shock mode. To my internal jubilation the bus is actually two minutes late, and turns up in time for me to get on. I show the driver my travelcard and it works, to my relief, even though it looks like a train ticket. On the bus I am worried about my hair because in a poorly planned rush I did not have enough time to wash my hair, and it feels a bit greasy. The bus window acts as a mirror, and it looks okay, and this reassures me - although I am aware that these reflections are quite murky.

I get off the bus and phone Magda but she is looking the wrong way, the silly sausage, because I am behind her. We go into Richmond tube station and get on a carriage. We talk about books and music and London. The train stops and to my exhaustive relief Magda realises that it is Earls Court and we need to get off. The next train we get is incredibly loud and sounds like a bag of nails being shaken around like a bag of salt and shake crisps times a million.

Just like tourists we get lost in Leicester Square. We decide to stop and ask some friendly looking strangers for directions to Ku Klub. Graciously they adhere to our request. Outside Ku Klub we arrange to meet Harry Wong by text and he comes out with a lollypop in his mouth. I offer him some of my orange soda soft drink, he has a bit but he doesnt like to get too drunk because he always makes a fool out of himself. Inside; I go to the toilet. As I am taking a leak, I hear some commotion behind me and turn around to see three young lads running out of the cubicle - they were probably playing hide and seek or something with their good friends. Downstairs in the club, there is not very many girls and I think that Magda may feel a little out of place. We sit down, we watch some people infront of us who are dancing jovially, untill Harry Wong comes down and we dance in a circle with some of his fashionable friends. Generously he gives us both these tickets that we can exchange at the bar for a free shot of apple sours; which we do. We dance for a while, it is wonderful to see the cultural diversity - two boys kissing on one side of us and two girls kissing on the other. Regrettably they are not playing Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture and we decide to leave. Harry's magnanimty continues to impress and he takes us to another venue to make sure we have a fun evening. We dont have enough money for the club though, so we pretend to walk to get some money out, as to not render his helpfullness fruitless. Male cannabis plants.

We walk around the town for a little while and stop at an automated teller, where I withdraw ten of her majesty's finest. We take a bus to somewhere, but it seems to be simply retracing our footsteps with tyre-prints and exhaust trails. We take another two buses, I reduce myself to urinating on the street of our capital city, and we end up outside Hyde Park. We talk to a man who works for a high-class jeweler, but he doesn't have any freebies available at this time.

We climb into the park and walk past a delightful group of foreign exchange students who are sat in a circle engaging in community. We walk around and I sing Red Hot Chili Peppers. Dreadfully. We find the river Thames, well I see the lights reflecting from the river's surface. Magda disapproves of it's existence. Closer inspection proves me right. Some people are coming towards us, and for some reason we pretend to be statues, like scarecrows we frighten them away. Magda tries to push me in the river. Unsuccessfully. We stand, inches from the water, light beams bouncing into us, ducks are swimming past us, the moon is shining, it is silent. This is the most romantic thing that I have done in a long time. We climb onto a small pier, Magda has heels on, we have no oars for the boat. Duck couplets swim past us, an island in the water behind us sounds like a new years eve party, only with ducks not people. Quack. On the way out, we hide from people who look menacing, climb out and catch a bus.

The bus is full of zombies asleep sprawled all over the seats, apart from a group of chatterboxes on the back row. We get off at Richmond and wait for a bus: the sixty-one. Magda has never seen Louis Theroux, we sit on the top of the bus. On my walk home I need another wee on the street and I catch a group of foxes gallivanting around Hardwicke Road, on the road where the cars drive, on the garden wall where the cats sit, under the car where the rain doesn't hit.

04:51 AM: go to bed, pores bursting with alcohol and garlic. I have an appointment with a reflexologist tomorow in the morning, I will probably need to do a poo in his waiting room.

distract-oholic, focus-ophobic

2009-07-12T20:14:00.000+01:00

Josh is driving in his car to London with his sister Emily. He is getting frustrated because the stereo is skipping on the song "I'm Just Going To Leave" by Defiance Ohio. This appears to be a kind of dramatic irony - except that Josh is aware of the irony - for it not to work on the day that he is driving two-hundred miles from home.

On the next page: They stop at a service station and shop for snacks in M&S Simply Food; Josh buys a Chicken, Bacon and Avocado sandwich and a bottle of Valencia Freshly Squeezed Orange Juice, whilst Emily purchases a packet of Strawberries, Cherries and Melon, some Sugar-snap Peas and a bottle of Freshly Pressed Lime Juice. This comes to a cumulative price of over a tenner; Josh has already gambled all but twenty pee of the change in his wallet. They both go back to the car and Sonic Youth is playing, but Josh's retarded bladder waits until now to to inform him that he needs to urinate. On the way back from the toilets two Northern looking guys look at Josh accusingly; one of them has a grey vest on which shows off his un-tanned shoulder blades and the other is sporting a typical grade zero skinhead. Josh's first instinct is to check if his flies are down; they are not; he looks up and the thugs have not averted their gaze; so he walks on thinking to himself that their aggressiveness must be a by-product of their northern upbringing - which is also something he has assigned to the gruesome twosome, devoid of any empirical evidence. In the car "Mote" is just finishing, it is Josh's favourite song on the album "Goo" so he skips backa and Emily is probably a bit annoyed that she has to listen to it again.

After a few chapters of; fields, farms, gorges, gateways, daisy's, ditches transforming into strained, stench-filled, grey geysers of civilisation; Josh and Emily arrive in London, Ham to be precise. They see their family and have an indoor barbecue - it is all very quaint.

They spend a chapter or two watching various editions of Big Brother and its spin-off shows. Emily falls asleep on the sofa because she is probably on a comedown, a hangover at least, but she likes her pills. Josh goes downstairs to watch South Park and Trailer Park Boys. He falls asleep during Trailer Park Boys dreaming about dormant volcanoes and the shock and awe of them erupting at any moment.

On the next page he is woken up by his Dad and he has a shower but the water is too hot. Although this is a rarity when showering, it proves equally, if not more, annoying than a shower that wont heat up. But its one of those things and he soon gets over it.

Josh spends a chapter driving his step-mum and her ex, who is the Father of Josh's Step-Brother Billy to the Pitch and Putt. It is London, but he is adept at driving.

The Pitch and Putt chapters are lost when the sunshine disintegrates into droplets of rain, smudging the whole experience.

Pizza Express is nice for everybody apart from Josh and Emily's Step-Mum: Sue, who is on a strict diet of three milkshakes but no milk. Her single treat comes in the form of one evening meal each day, but even with this; meat, marinade, sauce and flavour are banned.

Josh spends one long chapter reading Chuck and then wastes a couple of pages on Facebook.

For a few stanzas; Emily plays Xbox, their Dad turns the volume up, their Step-Mum turns the volume down, their step-brother has a bath and their little sister goes to bed.

note for future scathing film review:

2009-07-11T00:51:00.000+01:00

Regarding a generic action film:

"The only positive to come out of this film is the imminent influx of spoof films spawning from the vast multitude of material present; that is just asking to be parodied."

.dawlish life

2009-07-10T20:06:00.000+01:00

go around daves. wait for ben. go to dawlish warren. kick a ball onto the track. walk around the warren for a bit aimlessly. go to a carpark. meet laney and holman. laney plays guitar. play football. get hit in the neck and it hurts. shout at tennis players. go back to daves and bake some bread. play xbox. play badminton. talk about little ones. kill some moths in a glass with an apple and boiling water. acres comes around. pick up ashley-jayne. no room for mabin and england. go to tesco. see nat from uni. weird. buy some sandwiches. go to the polish hospital. smash some windows. walk around with a torch. piss in a toilet. go outside. get lost, go back. smash more things. move some things around for no reason. make our mark. go back. drop off aj. drop off acres. get dropped off with dave. mabin ignores us completely. drive home. msn. facebook. sleep.

John wasn't happy

2009-07-09T12:48:00.000+01:00

get up, have a shower and get ready. get picked up by Ema Came and she tries to crash the car a little bit. pick up Laney, and the Lovell who has no shoes on. get drunk in Darryl's back garden; Spencer and Jake have suits on but Darryl has pajama bottoms and no top. he tries to fit in, because he is a chicken-shit conformist; puts on some black trousers, white shirt and a tie. I have no money so I try to sneak on the bus, but the officious wanker stops me and makes me pay - so I get Darryl to pay for me. walk around town in a big gang drinking beers from cans - its still daytime - families aren't impressed - FUCK them.

go to the picture house - just for Darryl; we don't get a pimms - both get a beer. Laney and the Lovell do one, Lovell doesn't even comeback because he is pussy-whipped. me and Dave sneak in to the darkened cinema because we cant be bothered to pay and he takes off his top to put his sunglasses on and starts calling his teacher a prick. the films are all shit and I start to wonder why I even snuck into this place. I feel drunk so I write the word "sexy" thirty times in a text message to myself. then kick Dave's pint at a seat to make it smash because I like attention.

outside the cinema we are all posing for photos on the railings, but Dave the clumbsy imbecile smashes a pint glass against the cinema glass doors. we scarper. Collette and Lorraine are drunk; the big L keeps touching my stomach saying she likes the Clash and informs me she is not mentally unstable - I'm a really nice guy so I hug her when she cries. see Jamie Johns outside the cavern and he ignores me at first because he is shagging a model. when he talks to me, some neanderthal comes up to us and says "have you got beef with me" like some fuck-up off the tele. the guy looks like Craig Maggs minus having a neck. he has a stupid sleeveless top on and walks around bulging his arms out. I tell him to fuck off with his arms and he tries to fight Jamie a little bit because he has ten mates. Darryl tells him Jamie has eleven and we go inside.

Dean Hunt turns up with England and walks around looking lost for a while. Harry has some mates - three pussys. Johns has fucked one of them, but he's ignoring her tonight because he's cooler than her. the girls are doing NOS because they're not really good enough for class A's. some cat-fight happens downstairs, I dont see it, but it sounds ridiculous to me. Lorraine is too drunk to buy a drink at the bar so she gives me her card and I buy four pints of Heineken, and like cupid, I point her in Darryl's direction.

we leave John Gandys and head for Vaults: the gaybar. inside we head straight for the dancefloor, brushing past the bumboys and getting on the mainstage, because we are the headlining acts of this night. we dance around elegantly all night with our chests out. a bent comes up to Dave and licks his ear, I dont like this sick behavour so I start thrusting the guy from behind. I see some gays doing poppers, so I sweet talk them a little bit, have two sniffs and walk away with a big headrush trying to find my mates. go to the toilet and I hear some faggots behind me talking about me, I think they fancy me but I ignore them fervently. Darryl is getting with Lorraine and it looks sexy.

outside we see a man/dyke passed out on the floor because her queer mate is too spasticated to catch her when she trips over. the mate pushes me and I laugh because this scene is sick. the bouncer is a total wanker because he wont let Laney go back in to get his shirt. he is really protective about his precious door and holds it shut like his pathetic life depends on it. a few minutes later he gives it back to us and we dont thank him. see Neil Cleeve out from Dawlish and do one to Raj. Spencer puts too much spice on his, but nevertheless me and Laney pounce on his open packet like seagulls as soon as he's finished. I down a bottle of water in two seconds flat.

get a taxi back to Dazza's with the intention of bukkake-ing Lorraine. we try to climb into his house but its stupid so Jake tries to do a poo on his drive-way instead. Darryl opens the front door and catches Jake crouched down and tells us he cant get it up. we tell him to touch her cunt for a bit and wank off; really helpful advice. we are all happily settled in Darryl's sitting room, it is warm and comfortable and we are tired. but we decide to run around the household looking for weed. Dave and Laney are drinking vodka with Jordan, Jake is laying on the floor in the sitting room playing with his balls and we are all hiding in Jordan's room like little kids, but John isnt happy and tells us to get out. Laney is under the desk grinning like a menace. slowly and embarrassed we all get up and leave.

we walk to Brodies house but shes not having any of it the slut - she's probably too busy touching herself - I dono - she doesnt answer the door. on the way back I try to brake into two houses, because I think we might be able to sleep in their sitting room's. the POlice don't like this and they turn up in three squad cars to try and intimidate us. they call us dickheads and try to make us feel small, but two of them are bald wankers. Laney has the hiccups but they wont give him water the stingy cunts. I have a headache from the sirens but they wont turn them off, so I just put on Dave's shades and look like a cool-cat. I talk back to the pigs and they are get a bit worried by my intellect. they keep telling us to stop laughing but they are ridiculous so we don't.

Dave is a shit because he gets picked up by Ema.

try to sleep on Countess Weir roundabout a little bit. its not good and we dont want those pests coming back again because there is CCTV. instead we sleep in the field behind Darryl's house and sing songs about John; he wasn't happy. after about half-an-hour-of-hell I wake up wet from the grass, cold from the night and sick from the beer, I get up, jump over the fence, almost trip up on the chain and sprint away without saying anything.

a few minutes later I have only got to the bus stop, but there are no buses because its quarter to six. me and Laney standaround on the roundabout and wave down cars. most of the bastards are ignorant and pretend not to see us, too scared to give us eye-contact they scutter away to safety. a nice woman stops though and takes us to Exminster. we walk to Tesco, but that is shut because it is six-thirty. we wait half an hour for a bus but it is fifteen minutes late. as we are waiting at the bus stop; a dairy van stops off, a man gets out, carries a crate of milk, and puts it outside the Victory Hall doorstep. me and Laney look at each other grinning. we wait for the man to drive away, he does a three-point turn which is agonising in our stale state's. but once he leaves we spring into action. we feel accomplished sat in the bus stop; the dregs of society drinking a massive fourpint of stolen milk; whilst the community of early birds are up dog walking and exercising on bicycles.

the bus finally comes and we get on, I offer a girl some milk but she says no the ungrateful cunt. we sit on the top of the double decker. Laney gets off in Cockwood and I get off by the avenues. on the walk back through an alleyway I see a young boy walking to school and it makes me feel sick inside. get in bed and sleep but Darryl is sending me stupid messages.

Gangster fo life

2009-07-07T13:15:00.000+01:00

go to Jacks Patch with Jemima and buy a glass catfish for her tank. I almost drown the fish when I put it in the tank, because it gets stuck in the packet. go and meet Dave, and eat some fresh rocket from his vegetable patch. play football for a bit at the astro but there are loads of little faggots playing tennis. go and gamble at the warren but Adam Dobbin is bullshitting about how much he has won. go to Langstone, but they've stopped selling chips because it is after six o clock. go to Co-op and get some sausages and mash for seventy pee each and try to cook them at Daves but his Dad tells us to go away. go to my house and cook the meal but I spill oil all over the kitchen when I open the bottle with a sharpened knife. eat the meal and say goodbye to my mum and Jemima - they are watching some film with Jack Black in, and I hear a fist-full of fucks in one sentence and question my mothers censorship skills concerning my nine year old sister.

go to the skatepark to meet England but he isnt even there. he turns up a but later with Dean Hunt, Darryl Rabbage and another kid I used to know a bit. Dean used to drop his girlfriend off at school because she was fifteen and then drive to work because he was twenty-two, her old man put her on the pill because he knew Dean was fucking her all over the place.

go to Langstone and I take ages sending texts whilst also beating Chappell at ping pong loads. we drink orange sodas - I have ice, he doesnt. then I take a massive shit with my top off because its hot, when I wash my hands I blow my nose but I get snot all over my face and this irritates me.

go down the warren and see Royston and Came for a bit and chase a fox around the carpark manically in the car, and almost crash into the golf course gate. stop infront of the gate and then just nudge it anyway. kick a football at the toilet by the football club becuase we have nothing better to do. decide to try and push my car through the highstreet and time it. we push it too fast and Acres and Dave cant keep up - I jump in and go past a few people beeping - JUVENILE.

we meet an old man in the town who is looking for coppers to cause some trouble, he knows England somehow and says they both had spliffs till four in the morning last night. go home and watch southpark, then go to bed without wanking.

a reasonable request

2009-07-06T13:12:00.000+01:00

Jordan:

just wondered if u fancy getting fuckefaced and battering wing mirrors

cus im pissd and @ mine

weird love

2009-07-05T13:06:00.000+01:00

spend all day doing nothing and watching tennis. then drive a big van around for an hour for Rob. I feel a bit out of place, like a little kid in a pub, I'm not old enough for a van. have a bath, Murray loses, and drive to Darryl's. get a bus to Burnthouse Lane and Darryl thinks Karris lives by the football pitch. some twelve-year old girls fancy us, one of them is smoking, and she wants our beer and cider. she comes over and starts trying to grab my bag of beers, Darryl starts running away, so I do one too. At Karris' theres four pussys and four dawgs in the garden. Karris and Royston dance, and Karris gets her gash out.

Go to Timepiece get a stamp, and leave for the Imperial. meet Josie on the way with Darryl and they listen to my song. get a Fruity Tutu at the bar, and we are served by an underage kid who doesn't put enough alcohol in our drinks. Josie smuggles out our pitcher under her jacket and is really proud of herself. we walk to Timepiece and Darryl is going off on one; really angry. go upstairs and all the guys dance the night away. It's nice because they play The Pixies - Here Comes Your Man and Black Kids - I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You.

Outside Darryl wants to get some pills and have a party around his house but we don't do that. get a Raj and it is refreshing. walk back to Ema's with Dave and then back through Rifford Road and a big field to Darryl's. sleep on the floor.

have a fried Breakfast at Darryl's and he takes ages to get up, rolling around his bed in his boxers; flailing like a flounder. drop him off at the Uni and go to get Lukas because my car is still choc-a-bloc full of stuff. drive back up to the Uni and Darryl is parading around the pitch on his own like a weirdo with no top or shoes on - Asda and JR Sainsbury would not like it. play football for a bit and then take Lukas and Darryl back separately again. drive back to Dawlish and have some trouble with some disabled people in wheel chairs.

my Mum's had a porkpie for tea and I re-heat a Subway. go around Dave's and he's searching for Apollo 11 goods on eBay. me, Dave and Laney go down to the Warren and Robert Dobbin has been glassed, he has a series of cuts on his neck and a golf-ball bruise on his forehead. he's alright though and we have a Fosters and a gamble. go Langstone and it is locked so we decide not to play table tennis. go outside the Mount Pleasant like creeps and then go to Dave's. Mitchell is in the Sunburnt Arms dancing to songs with his little bah on his shoulders like the Family Man.

Talk to Dave Chappell jnr. and snr. for a while and senior doesn't want Tilly the dog. drive back to mine and sleep with the stereo on - no sleep timer because the remote is in the car.

a prostitute is like any other women, they all trade sex for something

2009-07-03T00:59:00.000+01:00

take ages having a bath and packing my car. drive to Darryl's and somebody smashes my wind-mirror on the way. pick up Darryl and try to sly one down the beach with an ice-cream but the girls arent there so our lie to Dave is rendered redundant. drive to Dave's and Darryl fucks up my window - it falls into my car door and takes ages to fix. play badminton and after a while I represent. pick up my sister from the theatre with shorts and an unzipped hoody with no shirt like a creep. eat tea. talk about girls making pig noises during sex, with examples and get told to shut up in Cockwood. go to the Polish hospital, and actually find it this time. its eerie inside the building, because ex-concentration camp victims were relocated there after the second World War, and a lot of them went mental, and it is overgrown with asbestos and brambles now, but I'm not scared. I play with the extinct electricity for a bit and nobody likes it. Laney stands on a nail and its probably infected so we go home.

me, Dave and Darryl go out around dawlish hanging outside younger kids parties, but too scared to go in, and spying on girls through their back garden's. go back to mine and watch a shit programme called 'The Villa' on Sky One, it's embarassing for the contestants.

make some music with Darryl in the morning and pick up Jemima from school. take her for a gamble in Teignmouth on the pier, then go for a meal at the Chinese, where Emily works so we get discount but 20% is not satisfactory. all of the plants in the restaurant are male. then have a gamble in the Dawlish arcade, but a weird man is in there who scares Jemima.

have a bath and dont watch Fight Club, go to the Lansdowne instead and then to Tesco again. Mabin is angry because Dobbin wants to sleep with Dani Lee mate. its foggy outside and I eat Jelly Dinosaurs.

hot but not sunny

2009-07-01T13:11:00.000+01:00

get up and re-heat rice in a pan without oil. eat the curry and clean the sticky pans. cut off a bit of hair. still listening to Deathcab. pick up Darryl and drive to Dawlish. he gets a pasty at Gays, we see Ellie and Imogen walking around town with a glass window, then we go to the beach. have a beer and chuck stones at seagulls. Dane and Henley went cow tipping in a field dressed in suits and on beans. go home and the doors open but nobody so I wash my face because I have a hot head. go for a meal at the smugglers - bit strange. transition is weird. go to see Jemima's play, its a bit racial, the temperature's too hot and the music teacher is going mental at the bottom myming the words and conducting each note like some kind of crazed lunatic. go home and drive to the Warren.

meet Matt, Laney, Darryl and Dave. they are walking around drinking beers out of a carrier bag like tramps and we chuck stones at a sign for a bit waiting for Acres. a hoard of wasps come over and attack us, but a Brummie tells us they are not wasps, but are called hawkmoths - we still try to bosh them though. go to the Langstone and play table tennis and discuss getting high in foreign environments. get asked to leave again so we dont stay any longer. walk back in the pitch black down the coastal path and reminisce.

decide to drive to stover to find an abandoned polish hospital. stop off at Tesco first to get some grub, but Matt and Laney buy more booze. Darryl is allowed in tonight because he has shoes. I eat some pringles, a pain au chocolat and one southern fried chicken sandwich. drive past B&Q, Trago Mills and Paintball World before turning off into the middle of nowhere. drive around in circles in the lanes for about an hour following Acres, listening to ABBA Gold and almost crashing into him everytime he slows down. we stop by some gates and some people have a cigarette. I get out of the car and walk upto the gates to find two dogs sitting still, so I start jumping up and down aggressively barking at the top of my lungs, the dogs spring into action and jump at me, I am shit scared and take a step back, but the dogs cant get to me, they are suspended in mid air from metal chains as they attempt with great vigour to fight me, I see that they are stuck and chuckle to myself before jumping towards the gate barking mad-ly at them, this time Laney and Matt join in and the dogs are really riled, and probably a bit scared of us because there is only two of them. we get back in the car, look back at the gates and there is an angry man with no top on and a shovel running towards us, I start to reverse but Matt shouts "NA MATE GO FORWARDS" and I do one down the lane. we stop and can hear smaller dogs barking omniously. phone Dave because Acres hasnt came up behind us yet and he says the nutcase was inches from hitting Acres' car with the shovel and they have gone back to where we started. we drive for a while getting lost untill we meet them.

still looking for the hospital we end up down a road not suitable for motor vehicles. park up. have a look in this derelict farmyard and Laney claims to see a goat in a window, so we get a torch and go up close and actually see the outline of a goat at the back with horns and everything. we climb up a ladder but it looks spooky, we turn on a light and see a caravan and pretend people are asleep in it to the others and drive away. Matt gets out the car in Newton Abbot and me and Darryl drive back to Exeter, we see a man sitting on a wall on the way but we dont stop and chat. drop Darryl off on Topsham road and drive back through Burnthouse Lane, Wonford and Pinhoe Road again. take a piss on the street outside my car and go inside and do my teeth

Darryl thinks he has never seen Mitchell before

2009-06-30T12:47:00.000+01:00

spend all day watching holioakes, glastonbury, Michael Jackson and Wimbledon. get Darryl from his house and drive to Dawlish. can't find Dave Chappell jnr. anywhere so I offload Darryl with Alex England. Darryl is appauled at England's rude remarks towards his mother. I see my mother and Jemima. have tea and take Jemima for a gamble. take back Jemima and play football but England is shit. go to the Langstone and play table tennis untill we are asked to leave. drop everybody home and drive back to Exeter with Darryl where we drive around town trying to spy on uni students with full beam through the windows at Holland Hall. we put on Nirvana - You Know You're Right and scream it driving through town and nudge a dog-shit bin next to a park on Glasshouse Lane. drop-off Darryl drive back to Polsoe, take a piss on the street outside and have a ham sandwich.

have a bath and its nice in the morning. get Dazza and Dave, see Royston and Loveridge and go to Lydl. get lost trying to find Spitchwick and go to a information point on the moor, where a litty tells me the directions to the carpark quite efficiently. Dave screams horribly at everybody we drive past, the gentry of Widecombe with their ice creams are particularly offended. the road has grit which shoots us through the window because I dont give a fuck about 20 mile per hour warning signs.

at Spitchwick we go the wrong way and have to turn around to find the cliff. Acres and that lot arent there, but there stuff is so we sit and pretend they are with us. when they get back we talk about Alan Haskey for a while and then jump off the cliff. Acres is a mentalist and does a backflip from the normal spot, then procedes to climb up a tree twice as high as the cliff and stands on the log bouncing like the gibbon olympics and hurls himself out of the branch into the water. then he leaves, taking Mabin, Stefan and Kate with him but leaving Laney with us. we skim stones in the river for a while and perve on all the girls and mums in bikini's for a while.

go back to Dawish play badminton, eat pasta and egg at mine with canneloni beans. Jemima shows me a fish upstairs and I go back to Dave's where we all squish into his room and watch Andy Murray, even though none of us are Scottish. go to Langstone for more table tennis where Darryl whacks out the frying pan to beat Dave. earlier on in the evening he 'luckily beat me' at badminton too. England doesnt wanna go home, so we dont take him for a while, then we do anyway so it doesnt matter. drive to Tesco and buy some food, bark at a girl in he carpark and we all look stupid; I have a sleeveless top and board shorts on, Darryl has shorts and t-shirt but no shoes, Dave has trackies on and Acres is in a suit. Darryl gets escorted out by me, because the manager doesnt like his bare feet. eat food. drive back. get in my car. red-light petrol. drive back anyway. drop Dazza off. piss on his neighbour's garden. drive back to Polsoe. drink a water. listen to Deathcab because I'm feeling gay. sleep

we, as a generation, need to start thinking about our purpose on this earth on a daily basis

2009-06-28T13:23:00.000+01:00

get high on a big hill; Amy cant find us. its hot as fuck and my car window is broken. get a drink and cake but Josie doesnt like carrot cake. Amy can find this place and I do one. eat a green thai curry and get drunk with the lovell. go imperial and see loads of people. Matt nuts lovell in the head for no reason and we go to timepiece. dance around with Dazza in the bar but am too drunk to remember to go upstairs and dance. have another spliff and get a taxi back. sleep in bed for hours.

Where is Bianca Chappell ?!?!

2009-06-27T12:24:00.000+01:00

Laker loses his temper and starts kicking bins around: I'm in the shower. His polaroids go everywhere and he leaves without saying goodbye. I fill my car to the brim with everything that I own and say goodbye to Sue, Kat, Harriet, Robin and Dan who kisses me - because he is really gay. In Asda I'm not allowed to buy a sandwich because I dont have a top on, so a man buys it for me with my money. Drive back to Exeter - all the cars I overtake look the same as do all the Sunny Day Real Estate songs that are playing on my muffled stereo.

It's weird to be back in Exeter - feels like a year ago. Laney picks me up with Dave and Darryl and we try to steal a football at Sainsburys but we only find a packet of tampons for men. Get a basketball and kick it around for a bit in town. I try to kick it at a wall and slip over - everybody laughs but its annoying. Drive past some uni girls and bark at them. Go to the Thistle and run away from an old security guard, he chases us into the kitchen and grabs Dave by the throat. After that it rains and we go home. Im not used to being on my own at twelve o clock so I ring Royston and go to Timepiece. She's getting some eyes from the boys and Karis says my shorts and shirt dont match. Collette asks me about uni and her boyfriend says his brother goes to Falmouth too. Josie also doesnt like my outfit and we smoke a spliff. I have trouble getting the car out of the lane, and fall asleep as soon as I get back - before sun-up.

Me and Darryl dont go to college, but he goes shopping for man things like aftershave, jeans, polo shirt, and a multi-plug. I have some fresh rasperries for a pound and Darryl wants to get a ploughmans from the Imperial. We both have Tyskies because he has no ID. Dave says there is a party in Exminster, but when we get there, we find out it is in Dawlish.

In Dawlish, Alex England is around on coke giving it some. The party has ended so we look around every room searching for Bianca Chappell. We dont find her anywhere, but I do play Titanic on the piano and Dave steals a boomerang. Darryl falls inlove with Imogen Acres and gives her twos on a fag. The house has two broken windows from a fight and Imogen has apparently got three deep cuts and blood everywhere.

On the street a gang of fucking idiots are fighting each other about nothing, and the police come so I put Abba on really loud in the car and whack out my rally exhaust noise. They bang on my window and tell me to turn it down, but I dont feel obliged to do that. Drop Dave home, then Laney then Darryl and go to bed. Bianca Chappell is okay.

hardcore soft porn

2009-06-23T19:32:00.000+01:00

Go out; everybody we see is talking about Higgins and Rupert is good at blagging fags. Hawken only let him cum on her tits which shows good personal strength because he has slept with seventy-two people and she has a boyfriend. Slide around on a computer chair for a bit in Rupert's smoking two's on a fag just to annoy Dan and I don't smoke. Andy's door is locked and I want Coca Cola because I have just eaten a subway.

Dream about Greece and try to fit a brake light, but the bulb is wrong. Take my car to Penryn for an MOT and play tennis and swim and Laker has his trousers on and he has cold legs afterwards and we walk home and I talk to Darryl and I have a poo and I am going to have a shower to wash and warm up.

a night

2009-06-22T02:14:00.000+01:00

go down to the beach for a walk. we find two people having sex so we bark at them. on the way home we walk under an archway and somehting makes a bizzare, eerie scowling noise at us. it creeps us out, and taken aback we dont know how to react. a few seconds later we regain control of ourselves and bark at the archway wildly and walk home, but the falmouth hotel is locked shut.

Thursday

2009-06-21T22:54:00.000+01:00

Hot morning in the tent because of the sun. See Amy for the first time in ages but her mates are doing one and so does she. Wash my face from sweat and dirt which is refreshing. Go to the safari again, get some expensive food, but it is hot which is nice and better than hula hoops plus sausage rolls and pringles. Chill out for a bit by the Coy Carp. I want Rogers to get a blowy off them but hes not really interested and just lets them suck his fingers. I go for a shit in the disabled toilet and the cleanliness feels like bliss, I try to be quick but when I leave someone in the queue tells me I've taken an eternity. Next to the cafe there is a mansion, but the walls are painted with trees and animals like looking through a safari kaleidoscope or a little kids bedroom. Rupert and Hollie Higgins think it is tacky and distasteful but I see it as imaginative and relevant. We venture upstairs in the mansion making monkey noises, there are signs saying NO ENTRY but I turn the other cheek and turn them the other way. Upstairs I open a door and there is a meeting going on with a board of apes sat around a big table sipping on banana daiquiris. this Thought scares me so we run out of the mansion and all do roley-poleys down a massive grassy bank.

We see our mate and feed him again for a bit before we find a conservation of baby monkeys who are play fighting. A miniature baby one has its nob out. After the promiscuous primate we encounter a bulimic gorilla - 'Gorilla gorilla gorilla' in Latin - who loves to be sick, play with it for a while, go upside down, have a mini spaz attack and then be sick again. He decided to repeat this madness six times in our presence, but probably stopped doing it as soon as we left. because we are morons, we go to the play park and jump around on the slide and climb up a tree. a ranger tells us to stop, so we pretend to stop for a bit and then carry on - Cos that's what we are like. fLaker almost attempts a backflip but doesnt. we leave the zoo and steal a J20 for the sake of it and drink it.

Yesterday a love of Laker's life comes and her mate is a blond hardbody.

Everybody is a bit monged out and we need some energy to go out so we drink kick with vodka and play 'I have never'. It turns out; we have all tried to suck ourselves off; Chris has licked a pezzy cunt, Andy has done a threesome and high-fived over the girl; Laker has woken up on a multitude of occasions with his finger in his bum and I have gotten drunk once. Laker is a lost boy and is wrecked already, somehow, and gets some MDMA off a girl in the tent next to us. Go to see Ladyhawke but its almost finished and seems a bit chilled out for the finale, for my liking. On the way back me and Andy see a sunset and appreciate it, its a pity Laker isnt there with us.

Get more drunk, take a pill, go see Dizzee Rascal. He's pretty good and during a song a computerised voice says 'BONKERS' in a funny voice. For some reason I get a weird girl on my shoulders, as soon as she gets up, I wonder how long I have to keep her up there for to be polite. I contemplate dropping her sideways, but am not convinced it would break her neck so I dont. Afterwards, me Rupert and Higgins are looking for a Gary Neville look-a-like and also a Lewis Hamilton impersonator, because we are under the impression they will sell us beans. Whilst Rupert is dodgy dealing I talk to Hollie Higgins about stuff and its alright.

Eat another bean and go to this weird seedy basement in the back of the Residential Dance tent where there are loads of mattresses like a crack den. We bean around here for ages and I sing 'We Are Your Friends' all night even though it is not on. I meet a mate, but I dono his name, he seems cool though. Then I go out of the crack den for a bit and dance with some strangers at the front of the stage. Because I went up on the stage last night, I think it would be good to do it again, but none of the strangers want to go up with me. One of them tries to give me ketamine though, but luckily Rupert comes and intervenes. Me, Rupert and Hollie do get up on the stage and I attempt to play a set featuring the Titanic song, but the keyboard is off so we just go to another tent, a small empty one and perform TWIT TWOO to passers-by. We are recieved pretty well, not as good as Dizzee but better than the Friendly Fires I reckon. We try to buy drugs from the ambulance tent, but they just give us water because its more ethical.

We go to the Chai Walla tent and the music stops because it is late. I dont like the silence so I rally up a gang of people and start a round of 'In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight' which blends in well with cries of 'Awooomba Wup Awoomba Wup'. I have a nice following going on, so I get a stupid orange bin from the floor and start beating it like a drum, stood in the middle jumping up and down moronically, feeling like I'm the king of this feral jungle. My advocates are getting on my nerves with their persistent protestations as the security guards try to shut us up. Nothing like the Pied Piper; I grow tired of their earnesty and start shouting juvenile chants in oppostion to their hippy agenda. 'Fuck the Veggies Eat the Steak' goes down a treat with 'mayonaise', 'cheese' and 'lettuce'. I inform them that 'we have a cause' and make it apparent that 'we are making a difference' whilst also educating them on the plight of Indian children: 'for every cup of chai tea, ten Indian children are killed!'

When they start to give me incredulous looks, me Rupert and Hollie start barking aggressively, jumping at their faces - like dogs. Then we leave and find another tent which is also full of hippies. As I walk in through the door I feel a bit of sick in my throat and announce to the faggots that 'this place is fucking sick'. Some asshole tells me to take off my shoes, he probabaly thinks that its hip to hang out in socks or something. Have a look around and my opinion of the place does not improve as we find some small alcoves of assery that are populated by klaxons telling us not to come in because they are closing. My mate from earier is in the tent though and he gives me a hug, he is hanging out with the security guard who is getting chatted up by a weird-one.

Leave the pussy-pit and walk around asking people about steak. One guy is particularly enthused with beef and it is a small world because he knows Emma Louise Blight who lives in the same building as me. Back at the camp, Laker has some weird girl who, contrary to Andy and Chris, is not hot lying with him. I think Chris has my sleeping bag on, because he stole it last time we went camping, so I wrestle him to the floor, twice. He tells me to look in my tent but I am stubborn and accuse Laker instead, he tells me the same thing, so I take a look - it is in there. But my Bouncing Souls T-shirt is not in there so I shed a tear and tell everybody about the day I bought it, a few times.

Then I meet a skater called Jules who has big blond curly hair and is into Operation Ivy, so we talk about that for a while, he is from Bristol and chills with us all night. I also meet a guy who has just finished an English degree at Exeter uni. He is pretty cool because he hates Arena and doesn't go to Timepiece on a Wednesday, he is from Launceston originally. I try to get my T-shirt back from the tent but I am not permitted to enter the site, I want to break in and go on the hunt, but noone will go with me. Instead I jump on Andy and Chris' tent because I think that they are talking about me, but they are all asleep - Laker is also in there. So I decide to go to sleep aswell, on my own in the tent with shitty wet-wipes everywhere. One hour later I have to get up. I pack my shit up and wait for a bus.

The bus feels like hell and I dont say anything for approx. five hours untill we get to the Bristol services where me and Laker get a KFC. As I walk into the service station it all seems so surreal, with all the artificial lighting and hoards of people walking in and out of doorways like sheep. It reminds me of the zombified members of the public that inhabit the space station in Wall-E. Me and Laker eat our KFC like weirdos on top of a big grassy hill in the carpark.

Back on the coach it is hot as fuck now and I dont feel really nice. The coach decides to break down at Okehampton and we have to wait for over an hour for a replacement coach, even though we are told it will only take twenty minutes. On the new coach, as we get into Falmouth, a weird guy sat next to me starts going mental because he has a sticker saying 'Josh' on his foot that has nothing to do with me. To his astonishment I am called Josh aswell, but the sticker is not associated with me either. His girlfriend shares his amazement, pointing out the apparent phenomenom that she is sat next to two Josh's. I tell her it is 'mental' and laugh to myself feelng accomplished.

When we get off the coach we walk back to Maritime. Laker doesnt walk with me and Rupert because he knows a shortcut, that is UP a hill. In the cornershop, I buy a Dr Oettiker pizza, a steak pasty and a microwavable cauliflower cheese with sauteed potatoes for 99p that I have for breakfast the next day.

Wednesday

2009-06-21T22:29:00.000+01:00

another nasty shit in the wretched porta-loos. then go to the zoo to see the animals. see the Lovell as we go through the entrance and he says the zoo is hilly. we ROAR at the lions for a bit and bark at the rhinos but I dont have a race with one. we see a small orange monkey hanging out with a black one in an enclosure. as we get close he squarks at us and opens up his jaw - but he is being friendly not hostile. we feed him some shoots and he puts his hand out to take them like an over-zealous little kid. we try to feed his acquaintance but the ginger isnt having any of it. eventually we do feed the black one, but the woman tells us not to because they have sensitive stomachs. I'm not chinese; and therefore not in the mood for monkey meat so we leave. we race up a massive flight of steps - naturally - I win. at the top we take a picture because Laker likes that type of thing - there is a nice view of the horizon.

Back at camp we get drunk and the Lovell comes back with Alex and a spliff. Last night we saw the Friendly Fires - they were a bit boring, but we did poppers throughout their set and it made the beat feel nice. When Lovell leaves we have a go on the Mystic Swing. It is a shoddy wooden shack with rotating axes, a foolish man works like a horse pulling a lever to make us move in opposition to the ceiling to give the fleeting illusion of being upside down. Not dissimilar to the ride Vex at Alton Towers. The Mystic Swing is pretty mystic though because it has UV lighting and we have poppers. Then we go to the big tent and listen to some famous DJ collaboration that is meant to be good, but the music sounds muted and it all feels a bit underwhelming. So we down a beer and Laker takes a piss in the tent.

We ditch the big-name DJ for 'The Residential Dance Tent' its quite fun so we get up on stage. But the people tell us to get off and its not fun so we leave. Have a go on the ferris wheel, I shake the carriage and Laker is screaming like a wimp. It feels like I'm on a date with a girl, except that he wants to spit on people from at the top. Then we go to the Chai Walla tent and some people get a Hot-Mama. Its some really spicy pasta thing that burns my lip like the burn from spilled Poppers.

Most people go back to camp but me and Laker go around asking people where Bryony, Dizzee and some pills are. We dont find the G, but Bryony finds us and Laker wants to bosh her BF. I get a burger but its not gourmet because that van has ran out of buns and a burger without a bun is not even a burger. At the camp Rogers wants some laughing gas but we dont have any. Rachel likes limas but is not fond of her Dad.

Tuesday

2009-06-21T19:19:00.000+01:00

Wake up and it is boiling as fuck so I dont go back to sleep. We just lay around like a pride of lions on the grassy plains next to our tents. Me and Laker go to have a shit and the toilet is disgusting - POO EVERYWHERE and it smells worse than Romanian Gypsy sewage. After the poo we go to the mainstage and see a few shitty bands telling even shittier jokes between each song. Drink an overpriced beer and play football. Look around, find a dodgy tent selling tacky fluorescent attire and fake tattoos. Chris finds out she is selling poppers so we get some. Laker finds out she is selling fake pills so we get some. Sniff loads of poppers at the camp and have a laugh with big heartbeat and hot head. Take fake ecstacy tablet and fall asleep. See my mate Lovell and he pretends he cant tell that Chris is hotstuff for a guy.

Get drunk and go see a DJ - Casper the ghost and Rusko or something. Its quite good untill a mosh pit breaks out and we decide to leave incase we end up massacring the whole tent and ruining the vibe. Laker and Andy do one. I think they are on the phone to me, but it is just the answer phone and I am talking to myself. Rupert gets beans. I find Laker and Andy at the campsite. Lakers head pops out of a tent, followed by Rachel, followed by Poppy - Wierd. me and andy go back to the music and Laker just turns up in the queue. the silent disco is lush because everybody sings different songs completely in-tune - it is music to my ears. Queen is lush but Tenacious D is gay so we leave. on the way back higgins and rupert meet a ket-head who is a wanker. he follows us back and wont trade sausage rolls for ketamine so we slate him. everybody gets in our tent and it is fun for a while, if not a little squashed, and then we eat sausage rolls and sleep.

Monday

2009-06-21T19:01:00.000+01:00

Decide to go to Beach Break cos I hate the Jo on Big Brother. Get on the Coach after lugging loads of luggage around for a while. The coach is alright because we are excited. Stops three times and we have a spliff at each. The spliffs taste nicer at the second two stops because it is sunny and not rainy. None of the stops apart from the last one have a KFC which annoys us. One of the stops lasts for a duration of forty-five minutes and we spend most of this time doing in a fence with the football.

After our ten hour long journey we have to queue up for a further two hours PISSIN ME OFF. The cuntablasts Rupert and Andy pretend to be on the green team and skip the queue. Andy takes his role as festival worker far too seriously and is constantly on the phone to head-office sorting out administrative procedures. He also keeps moving people on - everybody that tries to pitch a tent near us is politely told to move and if they dont listen he flashes them his green armband because he is officious. Set up our tents, get drun kand look around. Everything is shut by the time we get there, so we get a Hot-Toddie ginger drink and do one. Back at the camp Hollie Higgins doesnt have a house for next year and Laker tries to get on Rachel; who he decides he has fallen inlove with.

dilemma:

2009-06-12T12:42:00.000+01:00

don't know whether to go to BBL in kent next week or just watch BBL on E4 all week.

Kent

2009-06-12T12:16:00.000+01:00

In town we dont have any Prezzo vouchers and somehow we end up at a veggie cafe. Laker is not happy - there is no meat so he barks off into the distance wagging his feral tail around noisily. I get a pannini but I've got no money so I do one with my top off.

go down the beach because I got three 1st's in my essays. Sindle is deep throating a mini milk cos she loves that shit but we're just chilling trying to kill seagulls. on the way back a bee buzzes in my face so I show an elderly couple my le shark boxers. back home Rupert is getting promiscous.

At football I score two cos I'm lush then I have a shower in my bathroom. Louise is back a little bit, and she loves pro evo, big brother and weed. Laker sings a good song to me on the balcony and Andy makes a SHIT tune on the bed with our help. In the morning I have a meeting with a policeman and get some free smartprice bolognaise sauce.

when arooga first happened somebody obviously said: "that sounds like arooga"

2009-06-07T15:39:00.000+01:00

AROOGA happens at the beach, some birds try to flank us, we look down a cliff that is two-hundred feet high, a family of bulls chase us in a field, we crack some boulders, we get our toes wet, we listen to Frank Turner and we shout at a family.

AROOGA happens again at Kat's party, but this time it is the recording from Tom's phone, its funny because we talk about Liz and her mates, and she is in the room to hear about it. Her mate Patrick is a litty spaz - dresses like lion and doesnt play football. The polce come because of the noise, this is rationally reasonable. Kat drunken; Laker with a knife; and me chase the security guard down the corridor, but he turns around so we do one back to Andy's. We lock Andy and Liz out with the security guard for a bit, making lion grunts through the door. Rupert, Steve and Cori have a conversation but Rupert makes sure it is not awkward.

In Chris' room, we listen to some tunes, play football extremely aggresively, see the security guards on the lawn and smoke a spliff. we also look through all of Hollie Higgins' photos on facebook.

idea for a TV show

2009-06-04T13:27:00.000+01:00

The show is probably based on a family, but through the eyes of one kid. His parents are a bit nutty and their schemes never pay off, this causes an economic deficit within the household. The programme documents their rumbling tumbling fall from grace, both from the point of view of the family as a whole, but more focused upon the kid's outlook. He has to wear rags to school, cant go on school-trips and the family's plight culminates in them sending the 'taster' school photos (the ones that are really small and have 'copyright' or some logo printed across them) to relatives for christmas presents, because they can't afford to buy the real prints.

we burn the fat from our souls

2009-06-04T12:06:00.000+01:00

get lost around Redruth looking for a Peugot garage to buy a window for my car, needless to say we are singing along to ABBA. buy it fromt the garage when we find it, although a man in uniform pushes in-front of me in the queue to get served - obnoxious northerner. we drive to a place that has pirate models in the garden and an arcade built into somebodies house. the beach looks alright but Andy and Laker hate it. at the pub a fat man who is drunken tries to drive his car but he sets off the alarm. we leave.

at St Ives we leer at schoolgirls out of the window and try to chat them up, a school kid laughs at my window and it annoys me. so I drive down to a carpark and dont pay - the man is annoyed that I'm eating pasta - but I am hungry. we park and have a go on the gamblers. we see an old man selling boat trips who is a cynic. then we jump off a wall, its pretty high and really deep. Laker jumps off like an ape, Andy tries to land head-first and I land gracefully. Dan doesn't even do it because he is a wimp. on the way back I hit a motorbike with my car, whilst reversing in traffick and screaming KNOWING ME KNOWING YOU AHAAAAA.

at Asda I get a thai chicken curry with reduced price naan bread and thai vegetable crackers - the meal also comes with rice and vegetables. I eat this at home without a drink, even though it is quite spicy. I wake up in the middle of the night from a recurring dream that I have, in the dream; I wake up in my bed and am surrounded by people chilling and talking to me, but I dont like them being there, but they wont leave. I tell them to go away but the words dont come out so I viciously move from left to right of my bed hoping they will dissapear, but they dont and I am also disconcerted because my bum is out of the duvet. When I actually wake up from this dream, I am dazed and think it might have been real, so I walk around furiously in my boxers shouting at the docks for being noisy - the sky is a wonderous pink.

fuck off range rover

2009-06-03T19:37:00.000+01:00

go to the beach. andy and laker try to roll a spliff it takes them ages, crouched over like primates - it is a collaborative effort. after about ages, they have finished it and we smoke it. suprisingly it is alright. dan isnt happy when he comes to the beach cos he had none so he leaves. we have a swim, two Mr Whippys (laker has three) and order a chinese. then we go home and watch rules of attraction. stu lies in my arms; my heart skips a beat.

Take a chance Take a chance Take a ch-ch-ch-ch-chance

2009-06-03T12:41:00.001+01:00

In the night I have never taken History for an A level but I have read the Duchess of Malfi by Webster. The fire is nice and my sleeping bag is missing. so I steal one from another tent, but it belongs to osmebody else who wants it back. chris says he hasnt seen mine, which is a lie because he is sleeping in it - the WANKER. In the morning Stu does a poo on the beach which gets infested with flies, because flies love shit. then we leave and drive back. halfway home, out of nowhere, Laker's bag falls off the top of the car and crashes onto the road. so I reverse back and it is fine (we were orignially cruising at an average speed of 40 mph, but while reversing I dropped to a more modest speed of about 15 mph).

Back home I sleep, eat an egg-mcmuffin, drink innocent smoothie, experiment with excretion, and leave for the beach. At the beach Higgins is there and some mates, we play cricket, but it is really easy to score runs. I have no money so I cant get a pannini which costs five pounds. or an ice cream. We go to Gylly beach cafe and get a curry and a pint, then we go to the Beacon to pick up some weed. When we get home we smoke some but Dan goes to bed like a faggot.

In the morning we embark on a roadtrip down south - the dirty south - although the lizard turned out to be extremely clean and attractive. the lizard point is the most southerly part of England. First stop Tesco, swiftly followed by 'Sounds OK' because we feel like listening to Abba Gold. It is six pounds well spent and we get our groove on to it through town and all the way to Keynance cove. on the way Laker takes pictures out of the window. The beach is alright, nice sea, nice sand, okay pebbles and we get high on the cliff. Laker and Dan go off up a hill to have gay sex or something, so me and Rupert start waving and blowing kisses at an elderly couple across the river from us. They dont seem too impressed and when we walk past them they dont respond to Rupert's greeting. Rupert also asks a woman how much the boat next to her costs. because it wasnt her boat she didnt know how much it would cost though. I win at triple jump, Dan does a handstand, Rupert writes an autobiography and Laker takes pictures. Then we catch a hot couple after they have been trying to hump in a cave. so we follow them around the beach like weirdos for a bit. We light another spliff and climb on a rock like hyenas cos we have all fallen inlove with this blond girl. so we sing her 'in the jungle the mighty jungle' originally performed by ~ Timon and Pumba, 'I've never met a girl like you before' once sung by Edwyn Collins and 'One Track Lover' orchestrated by the actor Todd Rivers. The girl probally doesnt even hear us, but her parents do and they leave the beach in disgust. Back at the car we air out the car and put on Abba again. so we kick a basketball around the carpark(which is a field) and dance at cars that drive past. Our girl is probally touching herself in the backseat when she sees us.

2009-06-03T01:32:00.000+01:00

Spend a few days going to the beach, eating cous-cous, smoking spliffs, playing four player pro-evo against the computer and applying Rupert's ridiculous factor fifty sun block. I get my car fixed, it costs me one-hundred and thirty-five pounds and ninety-five pence becuse they insist on me getting new brake discs aswell as new brake pads, which is what I originally sought for. I miss the first bus to the garage cos it is a saturday and not a weekday. I then sit in Robin's room while he rolls us a spliff. He manages to make the joint with atrocious precision as to coincide with me leaving his room to get the next bus. which arrives late. I drive out of the garage with my new car listening to Limp Bizkit and a chick winks at me. I get petrol and that costs thirty quid.

Back at maritime Rupert is watching the FA cup final in Lakers but Laker and Andy are in Robins still, watching The Lion Man. We pack the car choc-a-bloc with camping stuff and people and drive to Tesco to get 18 bottles of Carlsberg Export each and some doughnuts for snax. We drive to the beach and we cant fucking stand it. some people are rubbish at the beach. Me, Laker and Andy go for an explore, we skim stones for ages, drink a few bottles and then Andy goes for a piss. Me and Laker find an archway on the cliff made from bushes and brambles and we go through it; deciding it would be nice for a blowy; and it comes out into a field with yellow flowers and a dissaproving couple. Andy has done one, and he pretends that he walked for miles past a house, but we just say he has taken a shit.

At the beach again with everybody else - we have a swim - not the girls - so it is just the boys - but Wood, Chris and Stu have gone on a Ray Meares in the rockpools, killing fish and chopping wood like real men. the waters cold. the tides coming in. so we move our stuff closer to the rocks - which is further away from the tide. Me and Andy have a chilling sesh in my car cos Laker is taking a poo in the field. he is using my Dawlish Town AFC magazine as paper.

Later on we sing twit twoo around a fire, eat chicken dippers and throw rocks at people who take a leak on the beach. Stuart pulls me a few times, but I have to keep my wits about me because he is drunk and is acting like an outrageous flirt. But Im a one track lover, down a two-way lane.

last night

2009-05-27T13:47:00.000+01:00

got high with the shisha, played pro evo and fell asleep to Gran Torino .

twenty six pounds for a year

2009-05-26T11:13:00.000+01:00

eat Dan's chili con carne - nice. full up and cant get drunk but we go out. on the way Rupey starts a fight with every local kid that we walk past and Laker's not gonna stick up for him. at Q-Bar Joe steals a girls yellow glasses and at 8 Bar a man designs eco houses. Rupey and double-H are just chilling.

in the car; my dad is in the front driving a little bit too fast and is drunk; Sue is riding shotgun questioning our destination; Izzy is chilling in her baby seat; Emily is sat her boyfriends lap; Tom, Emily's boyfriend, is sat in the middle experiencing a series of dodgy overtakes, he hasn't any of us before; Billy is sat on my lap playing Nintendo DS and his head is swaying forwards and back with the motion of the brakes being hammered-on; I am sat under Billy sticking my head out of the window pretending I'm riding a Suzuki Streetfighter Motorbike.

King Arthur's not at Tintagel and neither are we for long - nice hash browns though. the next day it is annoying at Perranporth beach because it is raining. we go to St. Michael's Mount and the tide is out. in the gardens I need a piss so I find somewhere I think is sly; a set of steps heading down to the beach with a gate. but a family wont go away for ages and when they finally do leave and I initiate the eurination, my family come and it is weird. Walking back across to the mainland is fun, but freezing. my legs feel like they are going to be fine, but my feet are having spasms of pain from the cold water. the tide continues to come in and no mermaids are around but the current is strong.

in Andy's we get high play pro evo and watch Step Brothers. Laker tries to be sick at the start

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEv8HFwLIBQ

2009-05-21T16:33:00.000+01:00

The last few days have been spent sat on my leather-swivelly computer chair at my desk in an endless, cyclical perpetuation of essay writing and vacant glaring into the abyssful view that my widescreen window affords me of the Docks. My gaze is occasionally interrupted by the fornication of seagulls; the oscillating cranes; the ant-like dock workers; the NO PARKING SIGN and a photographer standing on top of a white building with blue borders.

I've got Liz's guitar in my room

2009-05-14T14:51:00.000+01:00

. Finish essay. smoke shisha with Andy. escort Franco on his rampage to Rupert's room - Hollie Higgins is not impressed. chuck every bottle or glass jar that I can find in my room and fridge but none smash. this makes me Angry so I go out to the bin shute like a weirdo at half six in the morning - it is light outside - and pick up a tesco bag full of empty wine bottles. with my ammunition I return to the balcony and chuck them all off smashing quite a few - this makes me feel like a man - then I go to bed with a flagrant smile on my face

sunsets, flowers and the cold side of the pillow

2009-05-12T00:11:00.000+01:00

butterfly kisses, intimate embraces and falling inlove

reciting poetry, tranquil ponds and wondrous landscapes

bunny rabbits in springtime, acoustic guitars and the milkyway

odd socks, train journeys and bike rides in the park

playing footsie in a cafe, drinking chai latte's and organic flapjacks

whispers, sweet nothings and making love

familiar scents, natural beauty and feeding the ducks

Darryl Elliott:

♥ cup of tea and a weird film

kings, queens and princesses

chivalry, courting and getting married

autumn leaves, the colour purple and snuggling by the fire

Darryl Elliott:

camping in cornwall, smoke in one hand, cold beer in the other, playing football on some nicely cut grass in a field, using camping chairs for goals, in the evening sun, also with a BBQ going. that was real man. from the heart man.

♥

Dave Chappell:
Mate the grass is shit, all i need is a gurl a beer and my FIST

jellyfish, prickles and stinging nettles

a pill, a line and a pussy

devo, burberry and twenny pee mate

§ § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § §

Dawlish ♥

northern holiday makers, Ian Mitchell and Baileys Fish and chips

anthony banning's scouse accent, the lansdowne and michael TIT

the football club toilets, hookways and molly jolly

harrisons amusements, mary-anne saunders' moped, and johnny wally

dani lee, the avenues, and robbing bread from the bakery

jumping off powt, matt martin and samba football

Chris Rogers is online?!

2009-05-11T00:44:00.000+01:00

Rupert loves taxis. ,With his lazy beer, we climb into Andy's room and play xbox on his tele. Kat says the party is rubbish but we get a taxi there anyway. At the party Rupert puts the beers in a fridge - some sort of weird gesture to the house perhaps. But I take them out and put them in a box(looking like I'm on the rob) and we meet some annoying girl called Flo. She has these ridiculous, golden, fake eye-lashes, I ask her if they're real but they're not so I ask why she hasn't taken them off. Shes not impressed but neither am I - she is also wearing a frilly rainbow skirt and stupid tassles on her arm - she resembles some kind of disgusting children's tv character. We ditch her and are informed that Roland and Jean are coming to the party later on - I deem this to be a myth.

The party-house is inhabited by a transexual and (s)he*
*(?)
is performing a wierd mating call on the floor to some girl on the bed. Me and Rupert get escorted out of the attic room and find Chris Rogers being courted by some girl - but when she goes in for the kiss he tells her he has a girlfriend, and Rupert also points out he has a boyfriend <3.

On the way back me and Rupert try a shortcut through a garden, but we get held up by a taxi driver, so Rupert feigns a long phone call untill the driveS leaves. We climb over a fence and find ourelves on a path. We are lost. so we climb over another garden and for some reason it leads to the train track. Rupert wants to go in the direction of Truro but I am adamant that we should go home. When we get there Dan is stingy with his Dr Oetikker pizza and we watch the sunset on Laker's balcony like faggots.

In the morning it is horrible and Dave is on the gamblers in Newquay. At the pub we watch football, talk about death and decide to buy a boat. At home me and Rupert sing "Who's got the Crack". Stuart Martin kisses my face.

kipper helmet

2009-05-09T20:01:00.000+01:00

tonight i am going to go out popping pills at pendennis castle, then i am going to go around cutting people's cunts off at a party

r u cummin?

2009-05-09T17:14:00.000+01:00

Over the last few days girls just wanna have fun and I stay up writing an essay all night long. Jody is a self-proclaimed circus freak and loves talking to me this week. She is good at text messages, so are Me, Rupert and Andy though. Laker? I get nice steak and eggs at the American Diner but our usual waitress, who we dont fancy, isnt there for some reason. Food fight at Mango Tango and Andy spills four shots of sambuca and jagermeister. Laker steals a bike and we steal entry into shades. He thinks love is a place in your heart, but love's an illusion and life is a dream.

We suspect our landlady to be a lesbian because she has a girlfriend. She warns us not to venture into the attic rooms, so we assume there has been a rape up there. We plan to get an alligator for a security guard and chickens for breakfast and dinner. We also want a bouncing castle; for jumping out of the windows onto. And a jacuzzi for drinking champagne in because we like to gentrify. PS rupert wants to lure girls into the pond, because then he can offer to help them out of their wet clothes ~ what a GENT.

At the beach today we have a wrestling ring ~ inevitably I win because; I'm Punk as Fuck; Smart as Fuck; and Strong as Fuck; also I possess, and control the fist of fury. In Exeter Last night Darryl informs me that he gets headbutted, but also that they beat up the man and chased his moving taxi down the road.

Dan and Laker are getting a visit from the Bailiffs: but don't worry I'm around to bosh them.

NOT FROM CONCENTRATE

2009-05-04T19:04:00.000+01:00

Buy loadsa food and haul it to the bus stop, where we catch a bus. We get off at this garden that is full of bluebells - Laker thinks they remind him of his eyes - faggot. There is a maze aswell but we don't get lost. At the bottom of the garden, a gate leads to a beach so we walk up the road and around the cliff. We find a spot on another cove and Chris chills out for a bit. Chuck stones at little kids on a kayak and at the sea which is freezing.

Me, Louise, Andy and Wood go for a walk to find a pub, we get stranded on a beach for a bit and pull down a tree. Brandishing the bits of wood we contemplate stealing somebody's boat but take the coastal path instead. At the pub we get beers with humongous Tequila shots and get a bit drunk. Louise hates Wood - Wood hates Louise.

Back at the beach everybody has got a fire going, and a group of hippies are annoying me by being on the beach. One of them looks to about forty-five with a severe receding hairline - we are less than subtle in our judgmental remarks. We scare them off to the other side of the beach with our Twit-Twoo songs, which we have perfected now.

We run out of beers so move on to a bottle of neat vodka without a lid - each sip causes a burning sensation which surges through my body like a wave of euphoria - each sip also tastes like nail-varnish. Andy sings a lush song about certain characteristics of each of us and we have to move the tents and fire because the tide is coming in. Play spin the bottle and everybody kisses but nobody fingers.

The tents are choc-a-bloc and also freezing, even though Chris takes his shoes off with no socks on underneath. wake up at six o clock to the sound of Andy screaming Motion City Soundtrack - When You're Around and I am still drunk. It is still freezing and the ball goes in the sea and a pathetic attempt to retrieve it with a log is fruitless. I run to take a piss and my jeans roll down and I fly through the air before landing abrasively on my hands in the sand. For some reason we cook some gash sausages on a barbecue but I don't eat any. We walk back up through the garden and wait for a bus that might not come, a man does come and get out of his car to open the garden's gate. So I chuck my bottle of water at his car and ask him to pass me it but he doesn't give it back. We wave down the bus and get on it, which combined with a taxi back to Maritime , sandwiches a moment of nonrecognition in Wetherspoons toilets, as I discover my eyes to be glossed over like marbles.

Sleep loads listening to the Doors and buy £29.31's worth of stuff at Tesco. Cook Bangers and Mash before eating it with a glass of orange juice NOT FROM CONCENTRATE.

some people

2009-05-03T11:59:00.000+01:00

Tom Laker – A weird kid who pretends to be arty, he spends loads of money on clothes and claims to be six grand in debt. He has a Mac and spends every evening on it ‘doing work’ switching between MSN, Facebook, Twitter and RSS feeds. He likes pictures of sunsets and doesn’t use condoms.

Dan McCrum – Small in stature but strong as fuck – does weights and press ups. Doesn’t take any bullshit in his photography, but is very set in his ways: Traditional Cornish Pasties, Local Cider, Bristol Rovers, Film Cameras and The Young Ones. He participates in drug abuse, when in his native Bristol and coined the term “Super Stealing Saturday”.

Rupert Cole – On first impression, many mistake him for an intelligent, well-mannered and productive member of society. But he doesn’t know how to cook frozen hash browns, hates mould, loves meth and has an alter-ego named Patrick who interjects sarcastic remarks in a weird voice into social situations.

Chris Rogers – A perfect specimen of humanity, possessing charm, charisma and boyish good looks. He is skilled in a plethora of fields, and I mean everything. Doesn’t eat vegetables – prefers microwave curries. Rupert attributes him with “slender legs of skill” and he is rumoured to have sunk a boat with a golf ball. weird ribs.

Me – A benevolent, highly skilled and almost omniscient, purveyor of truth. Likes punk rock, football, cured meat, the brand Le Shark and the comedy Brasseye. Described by his peers as “a model of postmodernity” and “Jesus Reborn” – sources unverified. A monster of modesty.

B.O.T

2009-04-30T11:28:00.000+01:00

park villa

and its a story that might bore you but you dont have to listen,

2009-04-29T13:40:00.000+01:00

inside Kat's room with the door locked, it's boys on tour under siege from the squeakies. Me, Tom and Rupert snoop around the room, reading her gay 'womans' magazines, rummaging through the strawberries in her fridge, sniffing her knickers and masturbating in her sink. I dont think she is very impressed by this, so she tries to get into Rupert's room, but Laker climbs across the balcony and pounces on her like some kind of sick broom-wielding hyena. Harriet and Jess get the same treatment when they try their luck in my room.

Laker pretends he doesn't like anybody and refuses to join the party, but I go in for a bit. I find, to my disgrace, that Rupert is Master of Ceremonies, pimping the Spice girls out. Liz is drunk and I feast on vodka jellies. In Laker's; Dan is scared of racism; Laker is always sketching out; Rupert is an Exeter Student; Chris is perfect and Im normal.

At Wetherspoons we chuck ice at peoples heads who we don't know, then people who we don't know jump down the staircase onto the sofas unlike lemmings. At Q-bar we sit down for approximately 14 seconds and leave because it looks like an old peoples home upstairs apparently. At Remedies, I do one.

Me and Rupert walk almost the whole way home with our arms linked on our shoulders, we take a piss, but we don't see Jess and offer to shag her mate bare-back.

At Maritime Laker cooks us lush burgers, Andy hosts a gay shower, Kimmi has some weed and this weird, sick kid is telling girls they are beautiful on facebook chat. Get back to my room at half five and the cunting seagulls are at it already.

Eat Chicken Kebab, Watch the OC, eat Chili-Con-Carne, watch football. Play in the empty room 74, but its dark. Shout at the Dock workers from my balcony but I'm not cowardly: "Oi mate you WANKER, what the fuck is that gay little crane" The man with an orange hat looks up at me incredulously, from about 500 feet away, so I, pathetically, chuck a bottle towards him which falls 400 feet short. I instantly warn him that "I'll get you next time mate" and scutter back into the sanctuary of my room.

Shania Twain skipping is unnerving for Rupert

2009-04-27T16:23:00.000+01:00

Read theory on Sunday. Also play football in the carpark and eat a steak. Me and Laker want to eat soap but Louise doesn't. We have a conversation about the infinite frontiers of the universe, the probabilty of intelligent life in the inconceivable multitude of galaxies, the iminent extinction of the polaroid and The Devil Wears Prada.

Breaded 'chicken' Burger and Chips at the stannary, washed down nicely with a peartiser. The lecture is okay - its about the theatre and Bartholomews Fair. I am sharply unsettled by a fat goth who is paying no attention whatsoever, but is covertly reading a wierd manga cartoon book, hidden within the facade of a notebook! Afterwards we see Corinne's mad friend who chooses poetry as her option for next term. On the bus home me and Corinne talk about Jake Gyllenhaal amongst other things.

Back at Maritime Rupert has no steak from the ASDA man, but him and Laker do have bags-worth of free chicken, ham, grapes, margerine and mince. I take a poo.

Jesus Walks

2009-04-25T17:51:00.001+01:00

Watch The Goonies around Lakers and it is lush. Lots of upskirt shots. Talk for a bit and go to bed.

Wake up. Eat pitta bread with Old El Paso Tex Mex dip. Drive to Windsor Terrace. Enter Urbanomics - wierd. It is a new philosophical movement based in Falmouth called 'Speculative Realism', but the speaker didn't instill much excitement in any of us, and basically just read out aloud a long essay with little-to-no rhetoric. On the way home Rupert thinks I've left him at Tesco, but I'm just hiding in a disabled parking place.

At home we watch Jarhead, steal some of Liz's birthday cake because she left it un-guarded in an unlocked room and play Pro Evo. Me and Tom win and Rupert walks out the door because he is a bad-loser and a habitual dickhead.

Phone Dave and eat two tuna-mayo-sweetcorn pittas.

I appreciate that this is minor

2009-04-24T17:18:00.000+01:00

Some selfish person, probably a woman driver, has a car crash which subsequently delays our bus by seventy-five minutes. I don't like it because I'm used to the effiency of process. I'm a subject of McDonaldization. Also Force Majeur is shut by the time I get home, so I can't buy half price Fred Perry polo's.

We drink Irn-Bru with Vodka, watch The Inbetweeners, and eat Andy's spinach and ricotta lasagne - it is nice. Get a taxi to Wetherspoons where we drink pitchers and laker upsets the girls. At Shades it is sweltering and sweaty. It is really good - but weird. On the way home I phone Dave and find out England has been Date-Raped but he's okay. Then I stumble across two frenchman helping out this drunk guy who is passed out on the curb. For some reason I try to communicate with the Frenchmen in Spanish, but we settle for English.

At home Laker spills coco-pops all over the corridor and Alex sweeps it outside his door - Laker doesn't like this and tries to arrange a fight over facebook chat. Then we have a spliff but Laker spills that off of the balcony aswell. Play Pro-Evo and everybody goes to bed - everybody except for Laker who comes back in my room sketching out, rolling around on the floor with Franco. He's getting on my nerves a bit so he leaves.

In the morning I find out that Laker lost the plot in the middle of the night - running around phoning people up like a madman and throwing up in Corrine's bin.

At Natwest, the woman behind the service desk assures us that she has "destroyed" one of Laker's debit cards before. She accurately describes the situation as - "WEIRD" - and concludes that his "new card is going to have to be shredded". Steak and eggs at the American Diner is lush.

I dont wanna be a bastard

2009-04-23T18:23:00.000+01:00

Have a pint of Guiness extra cold and see a sea-lion in the harbour. But Laker doesnt take a polaroid of the woman's institute's luncheon. Go to the sports bar: immediately on entry a drunken old man squeezes Louise's bum. Louise apologises for putting her bum directly infront of the mans open and lurking palm. Instead, we go to Watermans which is empty and we sit on the table by the tele.

At home I watch American Psycho with Sue and she doesn't like sonic youth - cos shes wrong. Rupert comes in drunk, and Andy comes in stoned and we have a spliff with Laker. We "Twit Twoo" in unison loudly on the balcony and put on Basement Jaxx - Bingo Bango. We dance around the room like spiderman for a bit and Laker cracks out the robot. Then Liam comes up and tells us to be quiet for ages. The boys are hiding and I can hear their muted laughter as Liam threatens me with an ASBO scheme and hints that Julia might sit on my little head. Then we go and listen for sex down the corridor and the four of us show Liz our dancing. We give her the choice of coco-pops or rape but its a bit weird and we leave with the cereal. Play pro-evo and me and Laker win the REAL match and go to bed.