The Story of a Panic

Yo. It's been a while. Reading week involved a lot of reading. I worked in the pub on Friday night and Saturday morning. Friday night involved me drinking a bit too much American Pale Ale and then smoking a Jazz Cigarette afterwards and becoming really pale and sketchy and not really knowing what was going on. Jez claims I passed out for two hours on the fuuton. However Rosie claims when she came in in the morning, he was the one passed out on a chair. So who really knows who passed out. Maybe we both did.

Saturday, well it was non stop hecticness with lots of northerners down to watch Sunderland play Brighton. Busy busy. Then I went down to the Eastern to mutter disconcertingly at the staff there, but instead Rosie downed Bloody Maries and I drank lots of HSB and then we bought some sausage and mash ingredients from Sainsburies together with some Irish Cream and a blue sugary alcopop, and popped into the Albert to drink gin and tonic and ale, went home, drank Waitrose wheat beer and cooked sausage and mash, went to the Lion and Lobster for pints of ale and smoky sitting on the floor, went to this party where I lost my hat and my phone and ranted at some innocent hippies, inhaled some laughing gas, ignored some americans, fell asleep for an hour, woke up again, found Rosie asleep in a bed and Nicky P may possibly have scored with some girl or maybe didn't but they were both gone when I woke up. I got my phone and hat back the next morning, but then Dave Bushnell was down, and he had read this article about going swimming in the sea off Brighton, and before long, we were swimming in the sea.

Alex Poofy and Tommy Kiraminski wussed out, so it was just me, Rosie and Dave. I think we lasted about 90 seconds. I came out of the sea shivering and muttering and with salt water streaming out of every hole in my face (and as Deleuze and Guatarri point out, my skin is full of tiny little holes). I was so shaky but this old man on the beach made me a rolly because I was incapable of doing so myself. Dave produced a thermos flask filled with mulled wine. That was cool.

We have a coffee table now. I've been reading large amounts of Lacan and Derrida and other crazy french people. They are fun. O yes. On Monday it was Tommy Ketaminski's birthday, and by coincidence Tommy Withie's birthday. They are both born on the same day of the same year, and they are both called Tommy. This is Higher Power Stuff.

So we went to the Hand in Hand and drank ale and went to this Jazz club and this Jazz singer sung Tommy "Happy Birthday" in a well jazzy style.

I'm so weak. I need to stop burning the candle at both ends. QNI tonight. QNI last night. Radio 4. E.M.Forster. Tea. Cake. Yes.