Wild

Yeah I know. It's flowers. So? There was a multitude of different colours and I thought it looked pretty (and yes I do think something can look pretty even if it isn't wearing a summery dress and smiling at me). This is pretty. If you don't believe me ask someone else.

Go on.

See? There's yellow there, some red and the white. However in order to keep it more in tone with my journal I left the nasty little thunderfly things in as well: remember it doesn't matter how nice something looks, theres always something there to darken it a touch. Take my cheese toastie yesterday. Sure it was nice, but there was a hint of mould on the bread. I assumed that the intense heat would rid me of the white fungul fur. It kinda did.

Had a good afternoon in the office yesterday just chatting away. Not to anyone here obviously, that could never be classed as satisfying (I jest). Then I went home and sat uncomfortably as the heat enveloped me like a damp duvet. It's alright though better than being cold I suppose. However spending an evening sweating like a scouser in the dock does have drawbacks: lack of sleep.

I reckon a song for the day is in order. Jamie T is a singer /songwriter and *spits* rapper who probably wouldn't excite the more informed music fan: unless they listened to some of his lyrics. He is Billy Bragg-esque but for the 21st Century.

As I travel down the track all my memories flood back.
We were runnin' at ease from enemies
and rushed back to your momma's flat
it's the only place but home I feel relaxed enough to crap
I know it sounds crude, but there's something in that

Poetic.

Thanks for all the offers of money from yesterday. Instead of a trip to Cornwall I've chosen to indulge in an honest and sincere spell of hardcore drug addiction. My three ounces of crystal meth is on the way, I have a large stack of specialist pornography all ready to go (like I didn't have anyway) and I'm not washing my clothes or bedding in readiness for turning into a proper skank whore.

Although I must remember to set the sky+ for Sirens next Monday. Plus if I miss Countryfile I'll get proper ratty, which would be bad enough without a crystal meth comedown as well.

Hopefully the indiscriminate bad language and nasty undertone running through my prose has distracted you from the fact that I blipped fucking flowers. See you tomorrow for a blip littered with kittens and churches and rainbows but with a write up about skinning rabbits alive to make myself some furry shoes whilst contaminating a village water well in Zambia by pouring diesel into it. Then laughing as all the thirsty people walk away in despair because thier watering hole tastes like a truckers boots.