I have discovered something that's very interesting. My shoes are a little worn, and the inner soles are loose. And whenever I take my shoes off, if I remember and try not to remove the inner soles, the inner soles always end up being partially pulled out of the shoes. Frightfully inconvenient. However, if I'm in a rush and don't think about, the inner soles always seem to stay in place.
Isn't that interesting?
Friday, 12 December 2008
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
The Owl Parade
Today is my 30th birthday, and so on Saturday I had a party to celebrate this event which featured, obviously, an owl-judging competition. I am still in the process of acquiring photos of this hard fought (and sometimes bitter) contest, which featured an impressive range of owls from shop-bought to handmade to stuffed to weapon of choice, but I have taken photos of some of the entrants. And so here is an owl parade!
Note, this is not the full list of entrants as some were edible (Mary's range of owlet cakes and Esme and Sarah's large third-place owl cake) and others for one-night-only (Stan's beautiful stuffed owl and Edward's borrowed owl necklace, which made me look like a pimp) so I didn't get pictures of them at the time.
This graceful lady owl was a gift from Vizzy. It was cause of particular concern to my friend Emily, who claimed it was simply an owl's head stuck onto a lady's body and so was worryingly unrealistic. Needless to say, an owl's head on a lady's body is one of my greatest fantasies.
This was the number one prize-winning owl, by Jenny, winning a good bottle of wine. However, it was a very controversial choice as Jenny had claimed (though possibly in jest and I had simply misunderstood) that she had hand-made it, and only later did I discover that this wasn't true. Regardless, it's a magnificent specimen, made from shells and with googly eyes.
Emily's gleaming white and studious porcelain entry.
An adorable little felt owl, hand made by Mary, whom I know from my time in Korea, and who, with Carlos, had come all the way from Berlin for this important date in the owl calendar. She also made an owl cake the night before, for our small dinner party, but it had been consumed before the competition had commenced.
This owl candle, with its head melted off, glowed different colours as it burnt, and was quite lovely. It was given to me the Monday before, by my then-girlfriend, just as we broke up. I felt a little guilty receiving it just after we broke up, although as she told me it only cost £1 off ebay, not that guilty.
This beefy bad-boy was a gift from Mira, and was alarmingly heavy. It will undoubtedly be the first thing I reach for if I find an intruder in my flat.
Ornate yet practical, this owl key-ring was from my sister.
Poor Kitchen Mark and French Claire had, by accounts, caused a catastrophe in their living trying to create an owl from papier mache, but not succeeding. So instead they gave me this dainty little Japanese owl, with its own cushion.
The actual owl you see here, big and plastic, is my first ever owl, given to me years ago. It is modelling Rosie's owl mask here, which was part of Rosie's "human owl" entry, which consisted of Rosie dressed as an owl!
This large pom pom owl was painstakingly crafted by Louise (and Joe) and was a worthy second place, and many thought was robbed of first prize (which given subsequent controversies may well have been the case). Soft to the touch, with big innocent eyes, it may not do much against intruders but it will certainly warm up these cold winter days.
This wooden owl was made by Green, apparently greatly testing his patience. It kind of reminds me of the woodpecker in Bagpuss, and is one of the wiser of my collection.
From Martin and Karen, this tiny owl, remarkably, contains four even tinier owls inside, Russian Doll-style. The smallest one is certainly the smallest owl possible in any owl parade.
Another from my sister, this owl, innocent at first glance, is actually an owl condom! I look forward to trying this out on an unsuspecting lass.
A late entry from my PA, this owl plugs into a computer USB port, and at random intervals opens its eyes and moves its head.
From Julie, a remarkable owl collage - an owl picture made up of lots of little owl pictures. Who would have thought such a thing could exist? This now takes pride of place in my hallway.
I'll let you figure this one out.
And there you go, my owl parade, formed from my owl-judging competition. This was the main centrepiece of my party, but of course the party was full of other stuff, such as drinking, talking, dancing and smoking big cigars. Here, to end, is the choice cut of the sixteen photos that I took.
From left: me, cousin Esme, cousin Malcolm, sister Morag and brother Ian. My aunt requested this family photo, specifying she wanted it taken before we were too wasted.
Kitchen Mark and French Claire. One of my favourite memories of the party is up in my room, playing "Roni" loudly, and dancing like absolute maniacs for about ten minutes until at the point of total physical exhaustion. Roni!
DJ Green spins some more tunes.
My PA, after whipping herself up into an ever-escalating frenzy, which included drawing moustaches on girls and fake-tattooing people, collapsed on a chair under a heap of coats, where she remained until about 4pm.
Note, this is not the full list of entrants as some were edible (Mary's range of owlet cakes and Esme and Sarah's large third-place owl cake) and others for one-night-only (Stan's beautiful stuffed owl and Edward's borrowed owl necklace, which made me look like a pimp) so I didn't get pictures of them at the time.
This graceful lady owl was a gift from Vizzy. It was cause of particular concern to my friend Emily, who claimed it was simply an owl's head stuck onto a lady's body and so was worryingly unrealistic. Needless to say, an owl's head on a lady's body is one of my greatest fantasies.
This was the number one prize-winning owl, by Jenny, winning a good bottle of wine. However, it was a very controversial choice as Jenny had claimed (though possibly in jest and I had simply misunderstood) that she had hand-made it, and only later did I discover that this wasn't true. Regardless, it's a magnificent specimen, made from shells and with googly eyes.
Emily's gleaming white and studious porcelain entry.
An adorable little felt owl, hand made by Mary, whom I know from my time in Korea, and who, with Carlos, had come all the way from Berlin for this important date in the owl calendar. She also made an owl cake the night before, for our small dinner party, but it had been consumed before the competition had commenced.
This owl candle, with its head melted off, glowed different colours as it burnt, and was quite lovely. It was given to me the Monday before, by my then-girlfriend, just as we broke up. I felt a little guilty receiving it just after we broke up, although as she told me it only cost £1 off ebay, not that guilty.
This beefy bad-boy was a gift from Mira, and was alarmingly heavy. It will undoubtedly be the first thing I reach for if I find an intruder in my flat.
Ornate yet practical, this owl key-ring was from my sister.
Poor Kitchen Mark and French Claire had, by accounts, caused a catastrophe in their living trying to create an owl from papier mache, but not succeeding. So instead they gave me this dainty little Japanese owl, with its own cushion.
The actual owl you see here, big and plastic, is my first ever owl, given to me years ago. It is modelling Rosie's owl mask here, which was part of Rosie's "human owl" entry, which consisted of Rosie dressed as an owl!
This large pom pom owl was painstakingly crafted by Louise (and Joe) and was a worthy second place, and many thought was robbed of first prize (which given subsequent controversies may well have been the case). Soft to the touch, with big innocent eyes, it may not do much against intruders but it will certainly warm up these cold winter days.
This wooden owl was made by Green, apparently greatly testing his patience. It kind of reminds me of the woodpecker in Bagpuss, and is one of the wiser of my collection.
From Martin and Karen, this tiny owl, remarkably, contains four even tinier owls inside, Russian Doll-style. The smallest one is certainly the smallest owl possible in any owl parade.
Another from my sister, this owl, innocent at first glance, is actually an owl condom! I look forward to trying this out on an unsuspecting lass.
A late entry from my PA, this owl plugs into a computer USB port, and at random intervals opens its eyes and moves its head.
From Julie, a remarkable owl collage - an owl picture made up of lots of little owl pictures. Who would have thought such a thing could exist? This now takes pride of place in my hallway.
I'll let you figure this one out.And there you go, my owl parade, formed from my owl-judging competition. This was the main centrepiece of my party, but of course the party was full of other stuff, such as drinking, talking, dancing and smoking big cigars. Here, to end, is the choice cut of the sixteen photos that I took.
From left: me, cousin Esme, cousin Malcolm, sister Morag and brother Ian. My aunt requested this family photo, specifying she wanted it taken before we were too wasted.
Kitchen Mark and French Claire. One of my favourite memories of the party is up in my room, playing "Roni" loudly, and dancing like absolute maniacs for about ten minutes until at the point of total physical exhaustion. Roni!
DJ Green spins some more tunes.
My PA, after whipping herself up into an ever-escalating frenzy, which included drawing moustaches on girls and fake-tattooing people, collapsed on a chair under a heap of coats, where she remained until about 4pm.
Sunday, 16 November 2008
Natural History Museum
On Friday, in London, I spent about three hours in the afternoon at the Natural History Museum. Only upon leaving and going round the corner, to see the actual main entrance to the museum, did I realise I'd just spent my three hours in the Science Museum. I'd wondered where all the dinosaurs had gone...
Saturday, 1 November 2008
My Flat vs Green's Flat
My good friend and personal chef J. Green has a nice flat in a nice part of town, and sometimes reflect on the dark days he lived on the "other side" of Aberdeen, i.e. where I live now. Whereas his side, the West End, glitters with class, my side, the East End, drips with menace.
However, in a head-to-head contest of unruly incidents and circumstances, Green's has been nudging mine. On my side, my neighbours grow weed in the shared attic, sometimes play their music loud, somebody from the block once set fire to the paper notices on the main door and wrote on the walls, and about a month ago I passed two policemen outside someone's door, as well as there being a steady pile-up of cigarette butts and plastic kebab forks. However, Green has been troubled by noisy neighbours - above and below - for over a year, I once found a 12-year-old boy asleep on the stairs, and his neighbour above had to be rescued from the police after attempting suicide by hanging. I think he wins. Out of doors, there's no doubt my flat on Market Street is a little rougher, with hookers parading their wares, the working class spilling out of low rent bars, and kebab sauce flowing like sewage. Nonetheless, very near Green's, I once witnessed a rough-looking girl vomit as she walked, and a nearby flat sometimes opens its windows to show off a bunch of vested skinheads playing trance at an abysmal volume.
This morning, though, saw me score some more points. At about 9.30am I left on my daily hour's walk, and at the bottom of the stairs, curled foetally, was a young gentleman with an obvious head wound. Ahead, the main door had been forced open (and now won't lock) and blood was smeared on the wall. The young gentleman was conscious, but his head and hands were buried in his hoodie and he didn't respond until I prompted him with a light shove. His response was slurred and incoherent and I thought, "Hell, hopefully he'll have crawled off and died somewhere else by the time I get back."
I pondered the situation on my bracing walk down the beach, and thought perhaps I should call the police or something if he was still there upon my return. But as I came back through the main door, I was relieved to see he'd gone. My mail was still there too. It was climbing the several thousand stairs and spotting the trail of blood that it became apparent that, in fact, he wasn't gone. He'd simply gravitated upwards, closer to heaven perhaps, in a quieter spot to curl up and die.
This is what greeted me outside my door.
Though it's not clear from the photo, his face was covered in blood, with an obvious wound most likely from some kind of "street fighting" with a fellow "tough". Indeed, not a gentleman at all. He was a little more coherent though, as he bled onto my hallway armchair, insisting in slurred tones that he was alright, and lived on the level below. I would have invited him inside for a coffee and chat but he seemed fairly settled and I was worried he might bleed over a housecoat.
I phoned the police just to let them know that there was an injured, drunk, bleeding guy camped outside my flat, and they duly popped by to ask him the same questions I had, and appear to have left him there to continue his bleeding.
Anyway, I'll leave it for you, dear impartial reader, to judge whether this levels me on points with Green or even nudges me ahead. Green - it's your move.
------------edit-----------
In fact, I do the police an inservice. They just knocked on my door and told me they'd taken him to a different address presumed to be home. His claim of living in this block seems to have been erroneous. They also admired my antique typewriter.
However, in a head-to-head contest of unruly incidents and circumstances, Green's has been nudging mine. On my side, my neighbours grow weed in the shared attic, sometimes play their music loud, somebody from the block once set fire to the paper notices on the main door and wrote on the walls, and about a month ago I passed two policemen outside someone's door, as well as there being a steady pile-up of cigarette butts and plastic kebab forks. However, Green has been troubled by noisy neighbours - above and below - for over a year, I once found a 12-year-old boy asleep on the stairs, and his neighbour above had to be rescued from the police after attempting suicide by hanging. I think he wins. Out of doors, there's no doubt my flat on Market Street is a little rougher, with hookers parading their wares, the working class spilling out of low rent bars, and kebab sauce flowing like sewage. Nonetheless, very near Green's, I once witnessed a rough-looking girl vomit as she walked, and a nearby flat sometimes opens its windows to show off a bunch of vested skinheads playing trance at an abysmal volume.
This morning, though, saw me score some more points. At about 9.30am I left on my daily hour's walk, and at the bottom of the stairs, curled foetally, was a young gentleman with an obvious head wound. Ahead, the main door had been forced open (and now won't lock) and blood was smeared on the wall. The young gentleman was conscious, but his head and hands were buried in his hoodie and he didn't respond until I prompted him with a light shove. His response was slurred and incoherent and I thought, "Hell, hopefully he'll have crawled off and died somewhere else by the time I get back."
I pondered the situation on my bracing walk down the beach, and thought perhaps I should call the police or something if he was still there upon my return. But as I came back through the main door, I was relieved to see he'd gone. My mail was still there too. It was climbing the several thousand stairs and spotting the trail of blood that it became apparent that, in fact, he wasn't gone. He'd simply gravitated upwards, closer to heaven perhaps, in a quieter spot to curl up and die.
This is what greeted me outside my door.
Though it's not clear from the photo, his face was covered in blood, with an obvious wound most likely from some kind of "street fighting" with a fellow "tough". Indeed, not a gentleman at all. He was a little more coherent though, as he bled onto my hallway armchair, insisting in slurred tones that he was alright, and lived on the level below. I would have invited him inside for a coffee and chat but he seemed fairly settled and I was worried he might bleed over a housecoat.
I phoned the police just to let them know that there was an injured, drunk, bleeding guy camped outside my flat, and they duly popped by to ask him the same questions I had, and appear to have left him there to continue his bleeding.
Anyway, I'll leave it for you, dear impartial reader, to judge whether this levels me on points with Green or even nudges me ahead. Green - it's your move.
------------edit-----------
In fact, I do the police an inservice. They just knocked on my door and told me they'd taken him to a different address presumed to be home. His claim of living in this block seems to have been erroneous. They also admired my antique typewriter.
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Housecoats
With the nights drawing in and the onset of a bitter winter, the golden summer of Scotland has long ended and a definite chill is in the air. Nowhere is this felt more than my palatial flat. Like all grand and historic edifices, the natural state of being is to have a cool but calm nip in the air - this isn't some box-roomed central-heated sleek and bland modern apartment with a flat-screened TV on every wall you know. It is also the case that I have a strong aversion to turning the heating on, which the cynic might claim is just me being cheap, but I would put hand on bleeding heart and say is my strong environmentalist drive to save our beloved Earth! The fact is, my quarterly electricity bill was only £90, and I was quite pleased with this. The PA is under strict orders not to turn any heaters on. I'd ban her hair-drier if I thought I could get away with it.
I digress. With winter with its foot in the door, and Scotland being officially the coldest place on Earth after Siberia during this period, and my refusal to use electricity, there needs to be a way to keep warm. I have a world-class duvet and, if I'm lucky, a high-class girl, but these are only good during the night. So how, you may wonder, does a gentleman stop from freezing when at home during the day? The answer is simple: housecoats.
As the name might suggest, a housecoat is a coat for indoor wear. If I'm at home, enjoying my leisure time, I don't want to be wearing some bulky outdoor jacket, perhaps soaked from the rain or blotted with the dirt of the streets. And so I instead wear a special jacket designed for the home, a snug, clean and stylish garment that has the flexibility and comfort to allow daily household activities.
Needless to say, a housecoat cannot be worn outdoors! How ridiculous. I'll pretend you didn't ask that.
I have a selection of housecoats, now eight in total (nine if you count the Gentleman's Yellow Housecoat, but it is currently out-of-action after an illicit yachting trip in Croatia, which blasted it with sea salt and red wine). This is not only for my consumption, but that of my guests, when they dare venture into my part of the city. Six of these housecoats are very recent purchases; realising winter was imminent, I stocked up. Years ago, when I lived in the castle, I had a collection of about twelve housecoats, but my uncle threw them all out while I was in Korea, and I was only able to save the two classic housecoats.
Anyway, I could ramble all day about housecoats - and my gentle friends have suffered enough already - so without further ado, here are some housecoat photos, because I know the modern attention span stretches only so far, and prefers pretty pictures over purple prose any day.
Part 1: The Gentlemen's Housecoats.
The following housecoats are designed for gentlemen. That's not to say that ladies cannot wear them, for my home is very modern in thinking, just that the fit is more suited to a muscular build.
1. The Classic Gentleman's Housecoat
This is the original gentleman's housecoat, passed on by my father over ten years ago. It has been with me through thick and thin, and has an elegance that matures with each passing year. Burgundy in colour and soft to the touch, it is truly a housecoat for all (indoor) occasions. It goes particularly well with cognac. A favourite with the guests - on the rare occasion I let them!
2. The Gentleman's Sturdy Brown Housecoat
If there could be a housecoat for the traditional worker, this is it. Quickly establishing itself as another favourite, this is a thick and warm housecoat, with a no-nonsense rough lustre. Too coarse for the particularly feminine, this is a housecoat for the man's man, and for someone like me, ideal attire after a hard day's graft.
3. The Metropolitan Gentleman's Housecoat
With its bold primary colour and trim fit, this is a housecoat for the modern sire, for the gentleman at home in the modern metropolis with all the new ideas that the last century has brought. Fashionable to "the max", the gentleman wearing this may fancy himself as quite the dandy!
4. The Original Tartan Gentleman's Housecoat
Boldly and proudly proclaiming itself in Scotland's original tartan (designed by Robert The Bruce), this is a modern fitting housecoat with traditional roots. Snug to wear and smooth to touch, this is a housecoat that encapsulates the best of all centuries.
Part 2: The Ladies' Housecoats.
The following housecoats are designed for ladies. Of course, gentleman are very welcome to try them on - I do so myself often - but they may find them a little restrictive and imperfectly fitting. For these are housecoats specially designed to complement a lady's gentle, gracious curves.
1. The Classic Lady's Housecoat
The original lady's housecoat, in my possession now for over five years. Almost velvety to the touch, this is a dainty and petite housecoat for the dainty and petite lady - no housecoat for the burly man, as my photo demonstrates! With its dazzling buttons, housecoats don't come any more elegant, and like nothing else this housecoat can make a lady look a million dollars.
2. The Velvet Unisex Housecoat
A rare unisex housecoat, this currently occupies the lady's section of my housecoat rack due to its magnificent gold buttons and luxuriously soft velvet that catches the imagination of any lady, yet the easy fit and bold sense of style appeals equally to the gentleman. Truly, this is a soft and fuzzy housecoat with a royal shine.
3. The Riding Red Lady's Housecoat
A bold and bright housecoat originally designed for horse-riding ladies for when they came indoors fresh from the stables. These days, you don't need to have ridden a horse to maximise the utility and enjoyment of this smart housecoat, you simply need a healthy sense of what is indoors and what is out.
4. The Rustic Lady's Housecoat
A housecoat designed for the lady who loves the outdoors, and who loves taking a gentle stroll through the woods and fields, talking to the little lambs and kittens as she does so. Of course, an outdoor jacket would be required for that, but what better indoors but to wear a housecoat perfectly designed to remind of the outdoors? For this practical and tough housecoat is durable like the outdoors, and is good for all weather (as long as it stays indoors).
And there we have my eight currently-functioning housecoats, designed for all kinds of people, whether male or female, of good breeding or bad. As the skies grow darker, the world colder and especially as the credit crunch crushes and crashes and stretches all good folks' finances to a breaking point, I expect housecoats to catch on in a very big way, so if you, dear reader, are considering buying some of your own I would advise you not to hesitate, as you don't want to miss out and go cold over Christmas.
I digress. With winter with its foot in the door, and Scotland being officially the coldest place on Earth after Siberia during this period, and my refusal to use electricity, there needs to be a way to keep warm. I have a world-class duvet and, if I'm lucky, a high-class girl, but these are only good during the night. So how, you may wonder, does a gentleman stop from freezing when at home during the day? The answer is simple: housecoats.
As the name might suggest, a housecoat is a coat for indoor wear. If I'm at home, enjoying my leisure time, I don't want to be wearing some bulky outdoor jacket, perhaps soaked from the rain or blotted with the dirt of the streets. And so I instead wear a special jacket designed for the home, a snug, clean and stylish garment that has the flexibility and comfort to allow daily household activities.
Needless to say, a housecoat cannot be worn outdoors! How ridiculous. I'll pretend you didn't ask that.
I have a selection of housecoats, now eight in total (nine if you count the Gentleman's Yellow Housecoat, but it is currently out-of-action after an illicit yachting trip in Croatia, which blasted it with sea salt and red wine). This is not only for my consumption, but that of my guests, when they dare venture into my part of the city. Six of these housecoats are very recent purchases; realising winter was imminent, I stocked up. Years ago, when I lived in the castle, I had a collection of about twelve housecoats, but my uncle threw them all out while I was in Korea, and I was only able to save the two classic housecoats.
Anyway, I could ramble all day about housecoats - and my gentle friends have suffered enough already - so without further ado, here are some housecoat photos, because I know the modern attention span stretches only so far, and prefers pretty pictures over purple prose any day.
Part 1: The Gentlemen's Housecoats.
The following housecoats are designed for gentlemen. That's not to say that ladies cannot wear them, for my home is very modern in thinking, just that the fit is more suited to a muscular build.
1. The Classic Gentleman's Housecoat
This is the original gentleman's housecoat, passed on by my father over ten years ago. It has been with me through thick and thin, and has an elegance that matures with each passing year. Burgundy in colour and soft to the touch, it is truly a housecoat for all (indoor) occasions. It goes particularly well with cognac. A favourite with the guests - on the rare occasion I let them!2. The Gentleman's Sturdy Brown Housecoat
If there could be a housecoat for the traditional worker, this is it. Quickly establishing itself as another favourite, this is a thick and warm housecoat, with a no-nonsense rough lustre. Too coarse for the particularly feminine, this is a housecoat for the man's man, and for someone like me, ideal attire after a hard day's graft.3. The Metropolitan Gentleman's Housecoat
With its bold primary colour and trim fit, this is a housecoat for the modern sire, for the gentleman at home in the modern metropolis with all the new ideas that the last century has brought. Fashionable to "the max", the gentleman wearing this may fancy himself as quite the dandy!4. The Original Tartan Gentleman's Housecoat
Boldly and proudly proclaiming itself in Scotland's original tartan (designed by Robert The Bruce), this is a modern fitting housecoat with traditional roots. Snug to wear and smooth to touch, this is a housecoat that encapsulates the best of all centuries.Part 2: The Ladies' Housecoats.
The following housecoats are designed for ladies. Of course, gentleman are very welcome to try them on - I do so myself often - but they may find them a little restrictive and imperfectly fitting. For these are housecoats specially designed to complement a lady's gentle, gracious curves.
1. The Classic Lady's Housecoat
The original lady's housecoat, in my possession now for over five years. Almost velvety to the touch, this is a dainty and petite housecoat for the dainty and petite lady - no housecoat for the burly man, as my photo demonstrates! With its dazzling buttons, housecoats don't come any more elegant, and like nothing else this housecoat can make a lady look a million dollars.2. The Velvet Unisex Housecoat
A rare unisex housecoat, this currently occupies the lady's section of my housecoat rack due to its magnificent gold buttons and luxuriously soft velvet that catches the imagination of any lady, yet the easy fit and bold sense of style appeals equally to the gentleman. Truly, this is a soft and fuzzy housecoat with a royal shine.3. The Riding Red Lady's Housecoat
A bold and bright housecoat originally designed for horse-riding ladies for when they came indoors fresh from the stables. These days, you don't need to have ridden a horse to maximise the utility and enjoyment of this smart housecoat, you simply need a healthy sense of what is indoors and what is out.4. The Rustic Lady's Housecoat
A housecoat designed for the lady who loves the outdoors, and who loves taking a gentle stroll through the woods and fields, talking to the little lambs and kittens as she does so. Of course, an outdoor jacket would be required for that, but what better indoors but to wear a housecoat perfectly designed to remind of the outdoors? For this practical and tough housecoat is durable like the outdoors, and is good for all weather (as long as it stays indoors).And there we have my eight currently-functioning housecoats, designed for all kinds of people, whether male or female, of good breeding or bad. As the skies grow darker, the world colder and especially as the credit crunch crushes and crashes and stretches all good folks' finances to a breaking point, I expect housecoats to catch on in a very big way, so if you, dear reader, are considering buying some of your own I would advise you not to hesitate, as you don't want to miss out and go cold over Christmas.
Monday, 27 October 2008
Terror In Torry
As part of my convalescence, I decided to take a walk through the darklands of Torry today. With streets eerily quiet and devastation all around, the air of oppression was thick like smokey mucus and the soot-black tower blocks - Torry's monuments of despair - watched my every move. As I shuffled through the ominous silence, punctuated only by the sound of heroin entering veins, I heard a distant screaming. It grew louder, until filling the air with its awful wail. To my horror, I found myself outside a giant cage, the bars stretching above my head, and inside were hundreds and hundreds of children. The sound by now was unbearable, a ferocious cacophany of yells, roars, and deathly moans. What monstrous fate had fallen upon these damned children?
I didn't hang around to find out. I fled, and was soon out of Torry, being sure not to look behind me. It can have been no coincidence that a rainbow brightened the skies upon my exit. I shall not be returning soon.
I didn't hang around to find out. I fled, and was soon out of Torry, being sure not to look behind me. It can have been no coincidence that a rainbow brightened the skies upon my exit. I shall not be returning soon.
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
Fandragon
Life, as they say, is a mighty fandragon, and rarely has that ever been so true. In early July, complaints were being spurted off in all directions as to my being overworked and never home - three months of being home later, I'm considering hitching on the first passing chopper just to get away. "Feast or famine," was how the operations manager explained this unprecedented home spell for me, and truly I'm getting just a little peckish.
That's not to say I'm not enjoying this extended spell of homeness. Indeed, it's been a pleasure to settle into my beloved flat, to daily meet my beloved friends,
GOD DAMN YOU BLOGGER, GOD DAMNB YOU TO HELL. I WROTE TONS MORE THAN THIS BUT BLOGGER THEN LOST THE WGHOLE DSAMN THING. DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU.
That's not to say I'm not enjoying this extended spell of homeness. Indeed, it's been a pleasure to settle into my beloved flat, to daily meet my beloved friends,
GOD DAMN YOU BLOGGER, GOD DAMNB YOU TO HELL. I WROTE TONS MORE THAN THIS BUT BLOGGER THEN LOST THE WGHOLE DSAMN THING. DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU.
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