I had a dream last night; I was on that Chris Tarrent game show. Except it was called Who Wants to be a Socialite? Instead of money you played for friends on facebook.
I was on 35,000 friends and was dead chuffed. There’s bound to be plenty of people on my new friend list that could help me out with my problems. One of them may even be rich!
Then I got stuck on a question. It was easy; something like what’s the colour of the sky? But I couldn’t focus on the answer. I phoned a present friend but ironically she was no help at all, and pretty rude. She shouted at me and hung up the phone.
I couldn’t risk it; I told Tarrent that I’d play it safe and take my 35,000 friends. But Chris looked at me, deep into my soul and said. “We don’t want to give you them” and then he walked off the set. The audience followed him and the lights went down. Soon I was all alone; sitting on one of those uncomfortable stools under a single, bright stage light.
I was wondering where I had gone wrong, I played by the rules hadn’t I? Why was Tarrent suddenly all evil and pissed?
Then I woke up.
Not a very pleasant dream and it hasn’t made a particularly pleasant post either. Still this is my last text post for awhile so I thought I’d make it down beat.
So when I come back, it’ll be upbeat and positive. It’ll be like “de de darrr!” Celebration time!
I hope, that’s the kind of effect I’m trying to create anyway.
Nothing New, Just a Bit of a Moan Because I'm Bored
Channel 4 news last night ran a story about terror laws being abused by police and that. My Dad says we’re sleep walking into a big brother state and it’s hard for me to disagree. Not that I’m really trying to disagree, I just love annoying my Dad whenever possible.
Two months ago this happened in Poole where I used to work. The council used the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act (RIPA) to spy on a middle class family suspected of lying on a school application form.
-the “Act was pushed through government in 2000 to allow police and other security agencies to carry out surveillance on serious organised crime and terrorists. It has since been taken up by councils to catch those carrying out any “criminal activity”.
The family were wrongly accused, but now they could be on the “international” list. At least that’s what someone said in one of the comments.
This means they’re always marked as someone who has at some point been suspected or accused of being a terrorist. Even if they had lied on the application form the only thing they would have been guilty of is trying to get their kid into a good school.
Although the kid may have been a suicide bomber in disguise, you never can tell. These midget terrorist’s are masters of disguise and are apparently laying in wait around the country - I mean literately lying in prams.
What really pisses me off is that I’ve had conversations with people about this stuff, usually the older members society or the more conservative amongst us are the ones who laugh at me. “Oh shut up Geoff” they’d say. “Your being a paranoid, silly liberal who knows nothing of the real world, there’s no conspiracy.”
Yeah; I know there isn’t a conspiracy, because for there to be a conspiracy you’d need someone smart enough to plan it and carry it out. These guys are just idiots who are fucking everything up. They don’t see the ramifications of their actions, they’re too stupid.
But, if things continue to go on the way they are someday someone will turn up. Someone with brains who’ll go. “Hang on a minute - I could be Big Brother! All I have to do is abuse all these laws and the entire country is mine! How convenient.”
Ok that does sound a tad far fetched, but it’s becoming more and more believable each day. David Davis recently said that there is a CCTV camera for every 14 citizens. They don’t actually know that for a fact because there hasn’t been a proper survey. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it was pretty darn close.
So I say fuck this country, as soon as I get my shit together I’m leaving.
Yesterday I planned on visiting my friends in Surbiton for a drink. It’s not far from where I’m living in Worcester Park but it’s tricky to get to. I live 5 minutes from the train station in Worcester Park; to get to Surbiton from here means you need to change trains at Raynes Park.
It was a Sunday so the train took it’s time arriving. An hour later I get to Surbiton and find the pub my friends said they where occupying. They weren’t there, I’d left my phone at home, they’d moved on and I had no way of reaching them. However I was surprisingly upbeat as I went back to the station, “At least I’m not in the flat” I thought to myself.
The tension is pretty thick in the flat right now and what with the small living space, boxes of stuff and now my three bags full of luggage, the last thing you want is pretty thick tension.
I get the hell out as soon as possible, wherever possible.
I’ve made it to Raynes Park station, the proceeding train that isn’t going my way arrives on time, in fact it was thirty seconds early. “Right” I thought, “This means my train is going to be late, I just know it.” My mood was souring as I was told the next train back to Worcester Park was going to be over a half hour wait.
After ten minutes I look back up at the information display and it indeed informed me that my wait had increased by one whole minute. I was outraged. “A minute!” I thought “I just lost a minute of my life”.
I’m serious; I lost it, I started thinking about how precious time was and how I’d never waste another second so that I could live life to the fullest every day. I was pretty angry at myself and vowed to stop saying things like “I’m biding my time.” What the hell am I biding for? Why bide? Just do it before you reach middle age.
After awhile I calmed down and stopped making empty promises to myself. I looked around at everyone else on the platform, an assortment of races, gender and size. However we all had one thing in common and that was we were waiting. We are always waiting; that’s just part of life, it wouldn’t be worth living if there wasn’t something good worth waiting for.
I could be more constructive with my time sure, I’ll get back to the flat and then use another minute on wasteful television. I want to spend every free moment of my time reading, soaking up information in order to gain some perspective. But that won’t happen because I want to read and learn for all the wrong reasons. I can (and do) read for pleasure but because I get obsessed with learning as much as I can as quickly as possible it becomes a chore. It becomes a chore when you realise the process is just so slow, I want to assimilate a book within the hour; instead of enjoying it at my leisure.
I suppose I just need to settle, you can live your life on a platform, if you have everything you need on the platform with you, like a book, your ipod and good company for example. You might even get scared about getting on the train when or if it arrives. “Will I like where I’m going as much as I like the platform? I’m pretty settled on the platform.”
My train arrived on time in the end, I got my minute back. When I arrived at the flat I found my phone and read the text I’d missed which would have informed me that they’d gone to the pub just up the road. I decided to go back out again, I needed a drink and the journey wasn’t half as long in the end. I spent two very enjoyable hours in a bar with friends. Well worth the wait.
Essentially, I’ve spent the day lying about what I can do and how great I am at things I’ve either only done once or seen someone else do once. I am of course typing about job hunting on the internet but I won’t dwell on that because if I’m honest that’s only what I’ve been doing for half my day.
The other half was spent playing my house mates Xbox 360 while my housemate was at work. I played that game Mass Effect, you get to make your own character and fly around in a spaceship. That’s not the best part about this game though, you see you also decide whether your character will be a Boy Scout or a ruthless bastard. My housemate originally opted for the Boy Scout option but after seeing how much fun I was having being a bastard he started again.
I’ve stopped playing now as it’s one of those games that go on forever and it eats up your time like nobody’s business. I will miss being a bastard though, I don’t think I have the balls to be that ruthless in real life. In this game you’re usually given three options of dialogue when replying to another character in conversation.
You can 1: say something nice, professional or diplomatic. 2: say something bland or generic. 3: say something rude or confrontational. The character you talk to will behave differently depending on how you act.
I would love it if real life gave you these three simple options. Actually in a way it does doesn’t it?
I know! I’d love to say something rude and confrontational in real life, just to see what would happen. Then quit – load my life to before the conversation; and do it again. This time being pleasant and charming, all the while secretly guffawing in my mind at how bad ass I was in the previous version of events. I think most of these scenarios would envolve women and people I dislike.
I want to reload my life.
Actually I don’t, I’d get confused and lost with all my reloading and then I’d have to start the whole thing over again, to hell with that. I think we should all be allowed three reloads each. You can’t change anything major, and you can’t go back too far. Let’s say the furthest is a year.
I think I’d re-do this year, then save the next two for the future. Not that this has been an overly amazing year or anything. It’s just my last one as a student.
I was looking around on the internet for a william burroughs type cut-up generator to play around with and then I remembered reading about this thing called Gnoetry, which is an advanced program for generating poetry from other texts to create completely new and ‘authorless’ poems. Unfortunately it is not something you can just download off the internet (at least I couldn’t find it), but I did find a love poetry generator. To get it to produce a poem for you, you fill out a little form then ask it to create it for you.
Here is my love poem:
Your skin glows like the apple, blossoms loud as the rose in the purest hope of spring. My heart follows your guitar voice and leaps like a wolverine at the whisper of your name. The evening floats in on a great sparrow wing. I am comforted by your jock strap that I carry into the twilight of chairbeams and hold next to my toe. I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of sperm. As my fingers falls from my bra, it reminds me of your stapler. In the quiet, I listen for the last squelch of the day. My heated leg leaps to my onesie. I wait in the moonlight for your secret house so that we may running as one, leg to leg, in search of the magnificient blue and mystical computer of love.
Your skin glows like the mango, blossoms hard as the weed in the purest hope of spring. My heart follows your bongo voice and leaps like a hippo at the whisper of your name. The evening floats in on a great owl wing. I am comforted by your knickers that I carry into the twilight of tea cup beams and hold next to my arm pit. I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of Lucozade. As my eye falls from my left sock, it reminds me of your cheese. In the quiet, I listen for the last zip of the day. My heated belly leaps to my vest. I wait in the moonlight for your secret book so that we may seem as one, belly to belly, in search of the magnificient brownish grey and mystical stray dog of love.
Let me tell you about the bus journey I took yesterday. I waited alone at the stop, a few other commuters waiting with me. A father the wrong side of middle age with little stumpy legs arrived with his son, a child with special needs. I couldn’t figure out what was exactly wrong with him, but the way he behaved and the exhausting way his father kept him reigned in revealed that this boy wasn’t all ‘there’.
At one point the kid approached me with a big smile; put his hand on my belly and randomly pointed to bus stop’s poster. I didn’t know what to say so I just smiled back and said “Yeah”. He quickly lost interest and started running around shouting and bothering other people.
Then a shady little man turned up with a baby American pit bull terrier. While the boy was distracted by the traffic and his Dad the owner of the dog had found himself in conversation with another commuter, a short man with round spectacles. Specs kept asking the dog owner about his terrier, the first question everyone should ask when handling a strange pit bull is “Is he friendly?” and he asked it, well done Specs – I thought.
“She” replied the dog owner, “and yeah she’s friendly”. The owner not even looking Specs in the eyes was shutting the conversation down. The child at this point had noticed the dog and started moving towards her. His father was straight on it, “Easy (looking at the owner) is it friendly?” “Yeah she’s friendly”. The father loosened his grip slightly on his boy and eased him towards the young dog that had also noticed the lad and was fighting her leash to get at him. “Easy son, be gentle” said the father, it was a tense moment. Suddenly – before the boy was close enough the dog started barking. The boy jumped back a little but still beamed his big chubby smile, not put off in the slightest he approached the dog again. However the father and the owner pulled both the youngsters apart. “No no son, I don’t think so” said the father “Sorry” Said the owner “She’s never done that before”.
The bus turns up, we board – I let a mysterious elderly woman go in front of me, I call her mysterious as I hadn’t noticed her at the stop before now. She nods at me, points to the boy and dog and makes some kind of grunt noise. Again all I could think to do was smile and nod back.
I took my seat in the middle, I’m a big fan of the middle, I guess I just feel at home there. The dog and her owner sat two seats in front to the right of me, the boy and his father sat ahead of them and the old woman sat the other side.
Left to the dog owner was a middle aged woman who also took an interest in the terrier and started asking the owner questions “Is she friendly?”. Don’t do that – I thought, he doesn’t like it.
He didn’t like it, at least not initially. The woman kept on and revealed that she also had a baby terrier. She stated how they are actually very friendly animals, if reared properly. It was if she where trying to figure out whether this man was taking proper care of his animal with tactful, polite conversation.
The owner agreed with her, he said that its awful how these young lads are using them as weapons. He loosened his grip on the leash and the woman started to pet the dog, who indeed appeared to be very friendly.
The boy’s father started in on the conversation, leaned over and petted the dog. He said he’s always unsure with dogs, gesturing to his boy who at this point was distracted by the Bus’s front window. “You can never be too careful” said the owner.
The boy turned around and saw everyone enjoying the dog, the dog too, as if by instinct, noticed the boy and again tried to get closer to him with a wagging tail.
Once more however the boy and dog were separated, for the first time the boy seemed upset – but he didn’t make a sound. It seemed that apart from screams he was unable to speak. Now the elderly woman came into play and sat herself in between the boy and his father. The father didn’t blink an eye and just let this strange woman stroke his sons back. I suppose he must be used to and greatly welcome the help of strangers.
The father now sat himself even closer to the dog, the woman and owner continued their conversation, as it turns out (and I’m not making any of this up) they both named their terriers’ Milly. After this revelation it was now a frenzy of fun and the woman made even more of a fuss over the dog as she knew she had the same name as her beloved pet. The ruckus caused the boy to yearn for the dog once more, and the dog seemed to want the boy in turn.
Yet again they were separated and at this point I became a bit emotional. A boy and a dog should be allowed to play with each other, yet certain circumstances arose that meant these two tykes would be kept apart. A vision of that boy’s future flashed in front of my eyes – it was a harrowing life without the joy of playing with dogs.
The father got up and sat nearer his son, getting him to look back out the window again was becoming more and more difficult. The father turned and apologised to the owner “Sorry, I just don’t think it’s a good idea” “It’s not worth the risk” Replied the owner, and he was right, still it didn’t cheer me up any.
What happened next cheered me up, the old woman rested her head on the boys shoulder and the boy started stroking her silvery curly hair – His large chubby smile reappearing and beaming brighter than ever.
I realised that he’d be ok, because there are good people out there who’d take care of him and that he may not have grasped the concept of what playing with a dog represented. He wouldn’t ever feel like he missed out on something other children perhaps take for granted – he’d be fine.
I got off the bus… and almost got run over crossing the road.
This is a band called Clayhill doing a cover of The Smiths,Please Please Let Me Get What I Want.
Played at the end of the excellent This is England which I watched the other day. I think the film had a few acoustic covers of great 80’s songs. I haven’t checked out the rest of the soundtrack but probably will in the near future.
What the title says, really. A hidden camera has been put in the den of a family of lions. Four little babies and their mum. If you catch them at the right time of day, it’s very cute and interesting. Bear in mind, Lions spend most of their time sleeping though. But is seriously worth checking out a few times a day. These babies are so young they’re still in their den and haven’t ventured outside yet.
I watched them last night at around 1am, before drifting off to sleep. They were all feeding, it was very cute.
I recently read that Socrates was sentenced to death for “corrupting the youth”. I didn’t know that and found it quite upsetting. It was in a book called South Park and Philosophy, It was brought up because South Park is considered to be “corrupting the youth” of today.
Geoff’s telling me to write in my tumblr but I wasn’t in the mood. He also started giving me “instructions/guidance” on how to write a tumblr and how it was very easy, which annoyed me slightly seeing as I have been writing plenty of these before now I just don’t see the point because hardly anyone is reading it. In fact the only people who are reading it are my friends and because I generally only write in here what i’ve been up to or what I’m thinking it actually gives me less stuff to talk to my friends about. I’ll sometimes meet up with my mate Swpnil, and you would think that not seeing the guy very often would give us loads to chat about and catch up on but as soon as I open my mouth to say anything he’ll be like “yeah I know I read it in your blog”…. Comments like this would often be followed by five minutes of silence as I try to think of something to talk about that he hasn’t already heard.
I’m a little proud of myself today because I’ve managed to write 2 and half pages of a feature script that should’ve been started a while ago. They’re not gold mind you but at least it’s something.
That’s it for today bye.
Yeh I know.
You’re absolutely right Dan, I did say I was talking bollocks - I only started suggesting stuff because we both said we needed motivation and the sight of you sitting at your laptop, staring at the screen in an almost catatonic state moved me, I knew I had to take action (he wasn’t really that bad - I’m just winding him up, shhh don’t let him know). I’ll make it up to you…
Although I want to believe that David Davis was sincere when he said he opposed “the insidious and relentless erosion of civil liberties in Britain” I still can’t help but consider his resignation as some kind of elaborate stunt. I mean he is a politician after all.
But perhaps I only think it’s a stunt because of the way the stories’ been handled, or the way people have spun the whole situation. Whatever his true motivations were they now seem tarnished by the media that use recurring phrases like “stunt”, “circus” and “farce”.
The shocking thing is a recent YouGov survey shows that the majority of the public, almost three quarters to be more accurate, support raising the terror detention limit.
Depressing – but who can blame the public when people like Rupert Murdoch and his Sun are promoting the idea? The Sun has gone to great lengths in campaigning for the increase in detention. I don’t read TheSun but they probably catered to the blinding patriotic nature of the more ignorant members of our society with some easy to digest one sided reporting that our tabloids have become globally renowned for. Either that or they lie and create fear, lots and lots of fear.
Former Sun editor Kevin Mackenzie has even said he’d stand against Davis in the byelection if there aren’t any other serious candidates.
What Davis said was important regardless of his intentions, but now, thanks to some clever media control, it has turned into a circus. It will all possibly climax with chief clown Mackenzie acting like a twat during the debate. He’s just Murdoch’s big baby pawn boy.
Everyone is now annoyed at Davis for creating a byelection that will cost the tax payers more money, which is fair enough. But if we continue to be led down this road, to allow surveillance to get out of hand, to allow people to be held without being officially charged with anything, or to allow ourselves to be required to carry identification cards - we will eventually find ourselves with bigger problems than tax money. Get some perspective people, take heed Davis’s words.
That said Davis is a prat, in fact they all are. It’s scary to think our country is being run or influenced by these total fuckheads.
Right then, my time in Bournemouth has been brought to an end rather more abruptly then I would like. My Brother and his wife have gone and found themselves a new pad in Surbiton. Unfortunately this means I and my father now need to look for a new place pretty quickly. Hence the moving to London - I need to get a job because it’s easier to find places to live when you have an income.
I was pretty shouty at my brother over the phone the other day, I had to learn all of this from my Aunt and was pretty mad I’d been totally forgotten in all this decision making. That said I know it hasn’t been easy for my bro and his missus, they’ve had to put up with a lot of crap from my Dad apparently, and the place they’ve all been stuck with is a dump. Even if they had decided to stay where they were it would have meant I’d have to sleep on a tiny sofa- not great, especially when you’re as big as me.
So really it’s just forcing me to get my arse in gear, I just think I’m getting thrown in the deep end all of a sudden. I’m confused and dazed, throw me in the deep end in this state and I’m liable to drown.
What made me lose my temper even more was the way my brother hadn’t listened to what I said about future living arrangements. For some reason he thought I was staying in Bournemouth, every time he said “I thought you said you were staying in Bournemouth?” it seemed to activate my volume control and I got louder and louder. I think I’ll try and call later to apologise - he’s had a lot on his plate and I could have reminded him about my situation.
That situation now has changed, I need a job and place to live by the 5th of July. I told my Aunt I’d go back next weekend, I need one last week in Bournemouth, it couldn’t hurt.
Actually it could very well hurt, It’s just me and Dan at the moment, the other housemates are away again and I’m pretty much having to pay a £200 pound electricity bill. Paddy gave me his £40 but that still only leaves me £20 till… well, when ever people pay me back. I know the others will give me the money… I just really need it now, which means I’ll have to be annoying and pushy. I’m not good at pushy, annoying is no problem.
Dan just got up and we had a chat, he’s in the same situation… its borrowing time, I hate borrowing. Its not even borrowing really it’s just straight up taking, sorry Aunty Josie and Uncle Joe.
On a lighter note I saw Indiana Jones 4 the other day and thought it was very good, a lot of fun despite moments where it went totally over the top.
Swinging with the monkeys? Inter dimensional Aliens? Ray Winstone? Come ooonn!
I got stupidly pissed last night and now my day is being ruined by Hangover Harry and his hideous friends. I say that but I’m actually quite enjoying my hangover because I won’t be able to do this so much in the near future.
Lazing in the garden with a good book after a night of heavy drinking will soon be nothing but a distant memory. I’ll have to get a job and responsibilities.
Great! I can’t wait to get a job now, I guess it turns out I’m not alone in wanting to shun all responsibilities.
I think I may even start a society for people who don’t want responsibilities. We could arrange meetings and then not bother going to them. I could pretend to type up suggestions or flyers, informing people how to stay irresponsible and then not show them to anyone because it’s too much effort and that.
I could get someone to make special Irresponsible Society T-shirts cos I can’t be arsed to do it my self and then never wear them as it could cause people I don’t know to approach me on the street and ask me boring questions about said society.
I know - I’ll just make a Facebook group, they pretty much run themselves don’t they? Ah screw the whole thing I’m going back to the garden.
This is the funk at its funkiest, Disco Andy Whiting mixes it up like a true professional. He’s also a top bloke so show some love, download a mix or two and if you like what you hear pass it on to your friends.
It was Bournemouth University’s Summer Ball yesterday and I’m still recovering. The drinks were over priced but continuous and there was embarrassing dance.
In case you don’t know the Summer Ball is like a miniature festival where all are required to go in fancy dress. I chose to make my outfit last minute – It was the robot outfit that Bret and Jermaine wear in their video to “The Humans Are Dead” in Flight of the Concords (If you haven’t watched this programme yet then you’re a twat)
This took me awhile to make, despite the fact the outfit is just cardboard boxes covered in kitchen foil. It was also extremely awkward to wear, so it was ditched half way through the evening and I once again became a human. This seemed to disgruntle a few other ball attendees as it now appeared that I’d made no effort at all. One random drunken Roman centurion approached me, slapped me (just on the wrong side of playfully) on the belly and said “Nice-shh effort mate” Then plodded off.
Overall it was a very enjoyable evening – Although near the end it became apparent that there just wasn’t any reason to keep going. You see, it’s traditional to carry on to the beach till sunrise and participate in something called the ‘survivor’s photo’. I didn’t make it – I felt a little saddened that the evening just sort of petered out. It was sort of inevitable I suppose, we were all getting far too pissed and way too tired, it was a whole day affair after all. I guess I was looking for some kind of climactic amazing end to it all, to sign off from Uni in style.
Maybe what I really wanted just couldn’t happen, probably my over romantic imagination over hyping reality again. It was a great night, it’s a shame I had to sober up.
Today I went to Camden. I don’t go very often. I like it there but there is an air of pretentiousness about it. You see people walking around with this ‘Oh my God, I’m shoping in Camden, I’m so out there and cool’ expression on there faces and incorporated into their body language. I want to slap them and send them back to shopping in H & M on Oxford Street. I don’t even know if there is a H & M on Oxford Street, but my the point has been made, I think.
I also don’t really like it when you stop to look at something and the market seller jumps on you trying to force a sale. They do that, then I’m walking off. Except today, when I was looking at a cool Marvel character-themed bag, which I did actually want to buy, and the woman haggled with herself and sold it to me for cheaper (though possible £6 more than it is worth).
There was an underground comic festival going on, put on by London Underground Comics. Usually there’s a stall in Camden every weekend, but they put on something bigger and more fancy this weekend. Was quite cool. I know the guy who runs it, and one of the guys who sells his comics there each week. So I bought a couple of thingies. There was an overbearing guy there, who possibly scared a number of people away. Including me.
Then we got some Chinese food and I had a Nutella and banana crepe. It was tasty…. mmm… yeah it was. We did some pubbing and went to Covent Garden. Did more pubbing. Went to Wimbledon. More pubbing and I went home. Kate has just knocked on my window to go for more pubbing… I’m off!
I’m missing out on some pubbing it seems… Tell me this idea you’ve had woman!