They get weirder and weirder

Can't remember this one quite as well, but Jon and I were going to some sort of amusement park. We were following three incredibly cute lasses to the water park bit, except that we all had to crawl on our hands and knees up a 55 degree slope to get there. When we finally got to the top, we had to clamber down a spiral staircase with no step which was being doused with water. When we got to the end of this, we had lost the girls and seemed not to be in a water park, but an indoor play area. I was given a little train to sit on, like the ones kids cart themselves round the garden on, and it started pootling off by itself round some sort of course, except that when it got to a wall, it just drove up it and along the ceiling. I just drove around for ages trying to find the girls, and then Jon, who I also lost. Eventually I got off to complain to one of the staff, a right arrogant prick, and he shoved me through a fire exit out into the broad daylight, andthn someone knocked on the door and woke me up!

I might need a psychiatrist. Or a joint.

Another weird dream

We were all trapped in a sort of low beamed cottage with a huge oak conservatory. My mother was there, and she seemed to be having some sort of fling with Malakai Intakos. Barney and I were playing a playstation in another room. We seemed to be cut off by some sort of storm, although it wasn't raining. The Aga had gone out and there was a huge spider under it. Then a pair of bears started banging on the windows in the conservatory and I went and started slapping the glass to scare them away, and Barney went mental, convinced that although two bears couldn't break the glass, I might break it and let them in.

Then I woke.
I'm gonna stop havin jalepeno and cheese sarnies before bed.

Well weird dream.

Well, I was dreaming that my mother had bought a house on Alresford road, but it was on a slope, so I couldn't get to sleep in it. Theliving room was on the outside, and there were only two rooms, a toilet with a folding door and a bedroom. Then, after getting refused at a party at Simon's flat on Colebrook street, I ended up in a pub in Bristol with Wes and Jodie and Jon. Wes was only drinking virtual drinks but ended up paralytic,so we had to drag him out of the place, incidentally falling over a table with Simon and his party sat at it, including Michael Burke. As we staggered through the booze mall the pub had been situated, we went past a cabaret pub where all the staff were dancing outside, so Jodie pulled us to one side to show us a shortcut through a fire escape, and when I walked through it, she slammed it behind me, and I found myself in an enclosed loading bay, looking a lot like the loading bay at the Bargate Centre, and I couldn't get out. Then the theme to The Antiques Roadshow came blaring out, and I woke up.

Just felt I ought to share that

A quick experiment

I'm not entirely sure but I think I am able to publish direct to my blog. I can't really remember how it is done but I'm sure that it is possible. In all fairness, not like I've had anything interesting to write for about the last three weeks. Actually, that is not strictly true, I have had interesting things to write about them but I just could not be bothered.

So, for the record, I have also dictated to this entire blog using the built in voice recognition software that comes with vista. It is actually quite good, certainly beats the shit out of the one that came with XP. Okay then, I guess I'd better see whether or not this will publish. God bless office 2007! It's the shit!

Film of the decade

If you ever get the opportunity to see Epic Movie, a smattering of arse gravy in a parodic style of quite a lot of recent films. Totally brainless and shite but entertaining in its own way. Some gratuitous nudity helped it along. Now one of the films it repeatedly has a pop at was The Da Vinci Code, which it pulled off to great effect. Now having sat through the genuine da vinci code, I realise that the pisstake version, written by two fart-joking, stoned african americans, with the combined intelligence of tree bark in the special class, is at least fifteen times as intellectually put together and thought out as that utter fucking pap that they managed to crimp off for the real film. I didn't even manage to spot which bit they filmed outside my mothers house until 1am. Stopping people from overlooking the set in case the actors had to make eye contact with real people , the totally vain jumped-up cunts, so far in the fucking clouds that they couldn't touch the ground with a rope. Anyone who had anything to do with that shite-awful sack of genital sores should do the honourable thing and alter time so that they drowned in boiling dirty chip oil as a baby. It's not that I didn't enjoy the film; I didn't. It's more the fact that they all made a shitload of money for something that an toddler could have left in a potty. Right, I might as well stop ranting as I am now beginning to run out of metaphors and adjectives, but believe me I could go on for hours about those talentless overpaid arse tampons and that rectal polyp of a so-called film.

Stay tuned next week as I review Pearl Harbour. Lol

Peace out.

Thirteen years

It sounds like the title to a film, but today is a very poignant date. It is an anniversary thirteen years old and it is one that always brings a sentimental tear to my sparkling mischievous eyes. It is hard to believe that it was thirteen years ago, and so much has happened since that day. I've even dug out the all the papers regarding that fateful incident and sat and had a wistful read through them, thinking about all the people involved. Out of them all, I miss WPC 141 Connors, the arresting officer, the most.

Lovely woman with a great sense of humour, and a real barrel of guffaws. She had such a winning smile as she led me off the premises and popped me in the back of the car. Thirteen years have passed me by, but I feel I have learnt so much, and a lot of it was all down to the people I met during the incident and the following six months when I was in and out of first magistrates court then crown court. I ought to mention a few of them, but I am a little hazy on the names and I guess they deserve some privacy. There was of course the victim, who was, unfortunately , naked hairy and fat the first time I met him, which was three in the morning in his bathroom. Coincidentally, this was the place I was arrested too. The second time I met the fellow, he was just as fat, but mercifully clothed, as he throttled me into semi-unconciousness in the local Safeways. At this point special mention should be made of the desk copper who told me it was my own fault for getting attacked despite the fact that I was already paying the price for my crime. Wanker!
The desk sergeant who bailed me despite being of no fixed abode, top bloke. Quick shout out for my mother who generously told said sergeant that she wouldn't vouch for me.
The final person needing a mention, or rather people needing a mention, would be my legal team. The legal secretary used to bump into me all the time whenever I was taking some form of narcotic, which always made our interactions interesting to say the least. But my solicitor and barrister were the real geezers. For those who don't know and are probably looking forward to this little revelation, I was caught having just broken into a bathroom window on the first floor, having made it across a twenty foot gass roof, at three o'clock in the morning, disturbing the owners and got myself arrested in said bathroom, and after all that time in court, my legal lot got me aquitted and all my travel expenses refunded.

All of this thirteen years ago to the day, and I've certainly passed a lot of water since then. At some point maybe I will transcribe the statements on post them somewhere, but in the meantime, I'm glad I had that little warning, which scared me enough to straighten my life out a little, not a lot, but a little.

Incidentally a real quick mention of the fact that WPC 141 Connors tried whacking me with a drug arrest when she found that I had vitamin C tablets and indigestion tablets on me. When she held up a my little bag of Cream of Magnesia tablets and asked me what would happen to her if she took all of them at once, I toldher that she would shit for a week, and she dropped the subject. Good drug prevention!

Peace out dudes.=

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New movie

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