bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog
Archive for July, 2009
Tuesday, July 28th, 2009
The two pictures to the left of this text require some explanation and scrutiny. One is of me looking perfectly normal, if a bit swarthy and knackered, taken a couple of weeks ago. Below it is a picture of me convinced I am hallucinating an alpaca on Junction Road, London N19. I am gurning a bit in the manner of Beaker from the Muppet Show, as this episode happened during a five day mini-breakdown during which I needed to be convinced that anything was actually happening at all. You are therefore looking into the face of a man who is slightly alarmed to be imagining Peruvian mammals on a north London thoroughfare, but nonetheless relieved that within minutes he will surely be strapped to something and quietly wheeled away. I did at first assume that the alpaca was simply a delivery for Ali at Planet Kebabs, however, it turns out that they regularly walk them up from the zoo as – and I quote the handler here – ‘they like to get out and about’. I was going to get it an Oyster card and a season ticket for the Science Museum, but was prevented.
I am certainly sporting the haircut of a nutcase: it cost £8 and took twelve minutes, which is ideal for the self employed, but does makes me look much greyer and more clinically insane than thankfully I actually am. I suspected that I was not in for a scalp symphony, follicle feast or tress party when I went into the barber’s and said yeah can you flick it about a bit and feather the sides here and there a la Paul Weller circa 1981, or Steve Marriot circa 1966, only to find that every time I said anything the barber would immerse himself in a book, listen to his iPod or simply walk out of the room. Also, although he had the same photos of hairstyles and such around the walls the all barbers have, the people in his ones looked scared.
[Hitting Read More now will reveal curious goings on in Nevada, amongst other things]
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Tuesday, July 21st, 2009
Yeah I like summer and all that, although I do eye it with the suspicious gaze of someone who, while not actually physically repellent, simply looks better the more clothes they have on. However, while I am a reluctant shorts-wearer I am an enthusiastic ice cream consumer, because I generally eat like someone whose parents have gone out for the evening.
As a child I was quite partial to Dalek lollies, which were something of a delicacy among the idiot children of Newham in the early 1980’s. These consisted of mint ice cream with chocolate around the outside, and the wrapper had a Dalek cartoon story on it. Strange choice really, as mint ice cream is very grown up, and I was never into Dr Who, and therefore not scared of daleks. I remain terrified of ice lollies, though, so I don’t really know what to think.
[Getting on read more will reveal genuine innovation in the field of frozen confectionary]
Thursday, July 2nd, 2009
I am by no means a fat gentleman – though I am reconciled to the fact that my days in the Bolshoi are behind me – and I do not therefore expect to be advised that it’s ‘best to stick to Diet Coke from now on’ by the non-specifically south east Asian girl at Upper Crust on Liverpool Street station, from whom I buy a late breakfast every Monday morning. I think she might be Thai. In any case, if I want a muffin baguette drizzled in Fanta, it is her job to provide it, and not hand out casual dietry advice, in the same way that I don’t expect to find a finger buffet at the dentist.
I accidentally called her ‘babe’ the other week and hated myself for most of the rest of the day. I am strictly ’sweetheart’ or ‘darling’ when interacting with females in a casual or semi formal environment, in the manner I suppose of a window cleaner or electrician. ‘Babe’ makes me sound like someone who occasionally enjoys themselves, and ‘hun’, with which I briefly experimented, sounds a bit lezzie.
[Hitting Read More now will reveal fusion cuisine comparisons and a distressing journey in rhyming slang]
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