Matt is a gaylord

It is most certainly an archaic term, but Matt is a gaylord, a fudgepacking boy-whore-raping perverter of children with deviant tastes so depraved that they deny chronicling. Although I seem to have some time on my hands so I suppose I could give it a try.

Nah, that shit is too sick, especially what he likes about stem cells. Although I guess they are at a mental age that he can associate with. He is trying to grow his foreskin back by creaming his little nob-end with stem cells and chanting 'no cut, no cut' over and over again. But at least it has stopped him trying to screw kids in size six childrens shoes.

This is a disclaimer stating that I was completely pissed when I wrote this and thereby have nothing cerebrally to do with the content.

A bit weird

I gotta admit, the beach nearby here is a bit disappointing as the tide seems to be permanently in, so you can walk down a precipitous cliff path to be rewarded with a shit beach and the worlds least fraternised beach café- when the tide is in (always) the outside seating gets lapped by waves. Don't imagine they make a profit!
Also, the bar that I have come to seems to be inhabited by 'special people'. The place is practically knee deep in drool. The most exciting thing here is a Brittany Ferry sailing past, and the whole bar is talking about it. This place would be cool as fuck if I was here with someone other than mother, so we could at least get a beer and take the piss out of people, but sat here by myself it is just a little sad and creepy. There seem to be more Polish folk here than in London. I would have said than Warsaw, but there are more Polish in Eastleigh than there are in Warsaw.
I might just hitch to Newport for the festival. Mal seems to be getting laid and he's a bit weird!

Out with the van

So here I am, sat outside the van on a campsite in Whitecliff Bay on the Isle of Wight. The weather is fantastic and the van has behaved like a dream, and not the sort of dream where you wake up sweating and screaming about asparagus. We are right next to what might be sandown airport, but is certainly some sort of flying club. Might go across in the night and steal a helicopter. Haven't actually made it as far as the actual beach yet, but will probably have a mooch down there tomorrow and soak up the atmosphere. Went to the onsite bar\club last night after arriving, mainly to get some cigs. It was kinda painful really. How do people get into being childrens entertainers? They must have a couple of diodes not tightened down properly. There is a climbing wall just behind the van, and it looks like a shitload of fun, as well as being dangerous as Vanessa Feltz's driving on the way to the Ginsters Pasties AGM. Haven't actually seen any kids maiming themelves yet, but it's just a waiting game. Same with air crashes, it'll happen eventually, and I hope that me and my camera are there to cash in on it. Nice middair collision with some bodies plummeting groundwards would be nice.
It's the festival this weekend, so it should be kinda quiet on this side of the island, apart from all the fucking planes taking off next door. Would try and jump the fence, but pretty sure I wouldn't get the van over. Anyway, I must go and buy some dinner for tonight. Humble camping fare I'm afraid. Frozen pizza topped with larks tongues, swan breast, and dolphin. A whole dolphin. At least that's what the picture on the front of the box looked like, although it's just as likely that it is a bog standard meat feast. Well we'll see soon enough.

Have fun