Sunday, September 23, 2007

Certain members of our friendship group...

So, it's been a few months. I'm in St. Albans sipping John Smith's Original Bitter after a night at the Rat's Castle. That fortress from the war of the roses, overlooking hatfield road with a watchful eye. I bought a Londis lighter. It's been a long time since June. I'm going to attempt to step backwards towards that time, bloggue wise. Wish me luck. I once summarised Neighbours for the last two years for Frank Tong. We were in the Bee Hive. I was in the Bee Hive yesterday. It has become a wine bar and Nina works behind the bar. At this point I realised that I had been going to the Bee Hive for 10 years now. And it has had six re-fits. When I first went to the goat Alan was 12. When you have to commit to work then it is harder to take a holiday. I am listening to the song about the day the music died. Richard Whiteley conspiracy theory. I'm in St. Albans. We moved out of our house overlooking Hanover like an owl, perched in the pepper pot. We get a new house on Tuesday. It's on Queens Park Road. I pushed my hand into the drain, in the old house, up to the elbow, but still it wouldn't unblock. We paid an 80 yr old man to mend the drain. We painted all the walls and moved all our stuff to underneath the Pomplex. The Pomplex is where the Pombear lives, growling at the walls for his honey. Daniel Taylor lived at our house for six months and then moved to cornwall and shooed the drug fiends from looe and walked across the river and cycled off into the wilderness and didnt eat or sleep but took off all his clothes and wandered in the woods until it started raining and he came home. Now inspired by discovering the meaning of words he has taken on being the chef and cooking hearty pub lunches. When we cut open the chair he would sleep on, we discovered a great stash of pound coins and blocks of rave puff. On the 9th of July was my birthday and on the 8th of July was Hanover day, which was a parade! with Dale Who and I was greeted in the morning with the gentle hooting of the teasmaid a Narwhal a Tapir and an Owl! Animal heads, borne by my friends and with a leap we dressed and took part in the Hanover Day Parade baying and whistling. Dale Who writes erotic stargate fan fiction. Over the last two days, in St. Albans, I have become consumed with some delighful fan fiction, including delightful episode of EROTIC NIRVANA FAN FICTION. Jesus Christ. It's ***exactly*** like my dreams.

Hanover Day was fantastic. After the Animal Parade, we meandered around the joy, with a whole "endangered species" flurry of urgency and excitement. Keith Trampleasure, morris dancing bearing the head of an owl. We got in the Hanover Directory. Tom and Joe made me a cake in the shape of Stuart Lubbock. He is just floating there in the pool (made of blue jelly, he is made of marzipan) with the apple in his ass. It's horrible. It was horrible. And somehow the most beautiful gesture I could ever possibly think of.

He went mouldy, in the end. We buried him in Queens Park. I've been trying to finish my book. It's called "CITY BOY IN BLIND SPOT TRAUMA". It's a collection of poems and short stories. It's totally nearly ready. But it's been totally near ready for a few weeks anyway. I'm totally lame and slack.

Alan is working as a gay text jockey and trying to move to Amsterdam. Nicky P is pumping weights in the cellar. Amy is an animal impersonator-for-hire. Jed keeps hearing micro-house in the back of his head. Andy has lost his bike. Rosanne is hooked on hot dogs. Tom has now recieved his hood and cloak from KKK supplies. Alice is pregnant. Uncle Chris got fisted.


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