Wearing my grey Levis 544s and my green and black map shirt.
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Sia - Breathe Me.
Dreamt about nowt.
Currently reading The ABC of Wine Drinking. (I thought it might be good. It's not.)
Present MSN name But I force a smile, knowing that my ambition far exceeded my talent. There are no more white horses at my door.
Talking to no one.
Last text from Bone
Word of the Day essentially
I am obviously too busy living my life these days to write about it. Which is good, and leaves little time for reflection – my poison, because I dwell on each moment until it has been disintegrated into obscurity.
I’ve tried this style before. I’ll try it again. I don’t know how well it works this time –
Last.fm. MSN. Ben. The novelty's gone... Clem. Countdown to Spain! James is coming. Greg is coming. Argue with James. James is not coming. Argue. MSN. Doorbell. James. He cries. I lie. Friends. James is coming again. Time passes. James is half coming. Pissed off. Argument. Pissed off. Clem. Three hour phone call. Countdown resumes. Airport. Straw donkeys-a-gogo! Plane. Greg. Cards. Air hostess. Um… Land. Bump. Granada. Contact lens solution explodes. Keithington. Minbus. Driiiiiiive. Refreshed. Big. Bull. Balls. Hmm? Driiiive. Flat. Night. Mrs Clem. Baby Clem. Food. Am starved. Tired. Blur. May have slept. Lots of lazy days. Jasper Fforde. Thursday Next. Late nights in the garden. Beer. Rum. Forbidden liquer coffee. More of it. And some more. Then more beer. Lots of laughs. Map. One roundabout. Two roundabout. Three roundabout is a no-go. Baby Clem has no idea about basic anatomy. Amusing. She wants to be a Marine Biologist. Upstairs. Crumpled paper falling. Crumpled paper lands. I go sleep. We quieten. Another note. You look like Harry Potter. We laugh. And laugh. Move to pool side. Big hut. Tired. Garden. Another note. Where you gone? Sit. Chat. Baby Clem goes to bed. More notes. All blank. We reply. Leave note outside door. Throw notes at windows and balcony. Next morning. On lawn. No replies. Next night. More notes. Beach was at some point. Very hot. Burning sand. Sunburn. Doomed mission to pink buoy. Baby Clem. Me. Clem. I struggle. James ‘saves’. James drowns. I save. Lunch. Another day. Fuengurola Zoo. Lemurs. Starving. Staving. Dying. Burger. Mingy. Crocodiles. Tapir. Tapir smuggling. Tapir jokes. More tapirs. Leave. Start engine. Try to. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Nope. Turn key? Nope. Very hot. Call insurance company. Takes forever. Sit outside next to metal bars. Harmonica. Metal cup. Smoking. Jail. Mañana. Mañana. Mañana. Success! Repair man comes. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Fooled you! Push car. Wait outside. Ciao! Ciao! Ciao! Taxi. Our taxi? Nope. Ciao? New taxi. Wait for it... Wait for it… yes! Our taxi. Driiive. Clem’s shoulder. Sleep. Wake. Apartment. Sofa. Clooooose eyes. Jolt awake. Go to bed. Boys outside. Baby Clem. Talk. Politics. Newspapers. Literature. School. Music. Religion. Arts. History. More politics. Sleep. More lazy days. Pool. Pool fighting. Shoulders. Gladiators. Baby Clem is fearsome. Attempted murder. Fails. Shame. Still peeved at James. Argue again. Never resolved. I was super cool. Walk away. Like movies. Don’t turn round. More lates nights. Lates mornings. Mornings don’t exist. More like afternoons. Supermarket. Cake in a bag. Frozen pig in a bag. Pig legs. Massive fish. Buy gambas. Buy crabs. Buy sigalis. DIY Mr Whippy. Gave Clem my cone. Sqid casserole. Garlic gambas. Smashed crab. Lurve seafood. Felt very ill. Still, I survived. Batman film fest. Hilarious. Pouting. Impressions. I am Catwoman, hear me roar! A certificate 15!? Val Kilmer of sex. More pouting. Robin and Alfred have it going on. Butt shots. Boob shots. It's all disturbing. Many laughs. Tangiers trip. Ferry. Stamps on passport. Compare. Tour guide. Camels. My camel is drunk. Swaying. James gets ripped off. Fez. Crappy jewellery. Carpet shop!? Nice mint tea. Drugstore? Crap restaurant. Men keeps staring. Boobs on show? No. Stop staring! Fez of Sex. A guy shouts something. Take fez of Sex off. Offered half-smoked cigarette. Decline. More shouts. Really bad street sellers. Raining cats and dogs. They have no idea what they’re saying. James is offered drugs. He declines. More’s the pity. We leave. Ferry back. Sleep. More late nights. Tipsy. Draw map. Regret it. Nights out. Followed dog with bees’-wings legs. Hot shot partier. Beach. Need the loo. Less said, the better. Walk back. Another night, the four of us. James unsociable. Order drinks. Long Island Iced Tea. Tempted by Sex on the Beach. Don’t have enough guts to order it. Heehee. Wave chicken. Fall over. Sandy jeans. Sandy back. Sandy pants. Uncomfortable. James leaves. Greg, Clem and I wander. Bookshop. Bridge. Pizza. Good pizza. No dog. Another night. Sent up welcome note to new neighbours. Take piss. Gregorio. Juan. Diego. Natalia. Babio Clemio. Get reply. PS: Why do you have Spanish sounding names if you’re from Derby? They didn’t get it. More notes. More piss take. Goodbye note. By the time you read this letter we will be gone. … On the lonely nights we will hear the wind whisper 12A… 12A… Eventually leave apartment. Sad day. Goodbye. Long drive to Granada. Granada Palace… or something. Four hour queue. Very long. Very hot. Not worth it. Trees. Walls. That’s it. No straw donkeys. Upsetting. Airport. Board plane. Fly. England. Mr Greg’s-Dad stares at me. He remembers. Greg is the guest of honour at BatParty. He has to be. Blackmail. Sigh. Days of sod all. Go to Kent. Hate The Offspring. Arrive. Puddy seems to be nice. Go to bed. Morning. Go to beach. Botany Bay again. Sit on beach. Walk about. Lunch. Prune arrives. The fun starts. Walk around a bit more. Catch up. Get dressed again. Leave. Drive to Broadstairs. I am in the boot of Prune’s car. Like a dog. But more human. Get some odd looks. Who needs the loo? Some random woman answers. Tres amusant. Folk Festival. I love the Folk Festival. Ironwork stall. Gorgeous clocks. Eighteenth birthday pressie perhaps? Gorgeous things everywhere. Buy bottle opener. Buy leather wrist thing. All good fun. End up buying a hat as well. Have to leave. Can’t go to Albion Books. Mildly upset. There’s always next year. Go home and get dressed. Orange tee. Pink and mustard shirt. Brown waistcoat. Black Levis. Green and orange shoes. Super cool? Maybe. Go to Prune’s. Effortlessly stylish. Seppi is in Switzerland seeing the Stones. Barbeque. Eay way too much. Drink red wine. Gooood stuff. Very full. Chat about old times. Prune’s flatmate was a kletomaniac. Stole a table. Stole many things. Stole sugar. Sugar strike? My dad is showing his age, evidently. Not WWII, though. Bed. Spine snaps. Too full to sleep. Slip into daydream. Sleep badly. Miss church. Go to Maureen and Vic’s wedding. Know no-one there. Awkward. Wedding vows. Stand for the older people. Average age must be about seventy. Mr and Mrs Egg? No. Pegg. Photos. Congratulations in order. Drink three Bucks Fizzes. Bored. Feet hurt. This is why I don’t wear pointy heels. Sinking into grass. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Go to start dinner. Very squished. Stand for the bride and groom? I can’t. Mildly interesting conversation with cool oldies on table. Drink at least a bottle and a half of red wine. Glass of champagne. Don’t even feel tipsy. Really bad best man speech. Mainly bored. Make a hasty retreat at half past six. Say goodbyes. Go to Puddy’s. Get changed. Make way back to Derby. Listen to some very bad music. Monday morning. Go to V’s. Go to Burton. Find out some very amusing stuff. Trade off. Get a little lost. Find tattoo parlor. Burly tattoo guys. Have to ask about health and safety. Feel very stupid. Guy is nice and tells me. Feel less stupid. Go back to V’s. Chat. Listen to Sia on repeat. Chat more. More chatting. And some more. Boot! Watch Jim Caviezel films. Drool. Sleep. Wake. Leave. Walk to grands’ house. Come home. And this brings us to the PRESENT!
