I have a work engagement following the day in this place, I’m sat the office with a mild hangover dressed like a fucking gangster, black suit, boot and shirt, ice white tie. I look like a complete berk.
Yesterday the office became a twisted intestine of strife; I had argument over row with a variety of colleagues, in every instance all were far too unaccomplished in the ways of sapience to work out that they couldn’t be further off the mark ejaculating into the Atlantic hoping to jelq a fish finger. I’ve decided that, whilst not the most intelligent fellow on planet Earth I wilfully despise the thick, they make life such a fucking bore don’t they –with the exception of Shannon Matthews mum, I don’t think I’ve been that entertained by the news since Princess Diana wore that nifty little engine block on her face.
Last night was a godsend, therefore. My first pint since Sunday in Southwark with Urban Woo and Louche. The former and I met up outside a crowded boozer and discussed matters of no concern here before being joined by the latter and moving off to a strange watering hole nestling in solitude under the vast glass and steel curves of corporation. The pub looked as if it had been dropped into place by some 19th century time fissure, it was perfectly square and its filigree décor and small dark windows stood in stark contrast to its contemporary urban surroundings, once inside one could’ve been by Dartmoor or the seaside.
Here we drunk Early Bird (the beer I’d celebrated in Whitstable last weekend but one) and the conversation turned to writing and comedy, after 3 more pints we wandered back through a stark and beautiful London to Waterloo and departed in 3 different directions.
Having Slayer in my phone made for a super fast journey back on the tube, trying not to tap and judder along was quite a task but I think I succeeded, I got home and took a shower and went directly to bed, it was midnight by the time I popped my sweet godamn head onto the pillow and I was out like the snap of fingers and thumb.
I had some fun here yesterday in amidst the squabbling at work, do check the comments, I make a guest appearance along with Swinsehead.
http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/film/2008/04/you_review_funny_games.html
This is jolly
April 9th, 2008 at 10:39 am
You’re right – thick people are a pain in the arse. Like the sort of people who leave comments on national newspaper websites where they get simple things like bishops protesting over The Life of Brian mixed up with nobody protesting over The Holy Grail. Those sort of thick people. Yes?
April 9th, 2008 at 10:41 am
Here we go… and they’re off.
April 9th, 2008 at 10:46 am
Yes, thanks for that NC, I saw that just as I’d pressed the ‘send’ titty.
Still, no one of any significance noticed, phew.
April 9th, 2008 at 10:46 am
Well he’s such an insufferable berk. Moaning his bloody arse off about cunts and idiots, when he’s one himself. And he’s a ponce. And he watches property shows.
D’ye hear that, do you? Eh?
April 9th, 2008 at 10:50 am
I noticed, and I’m of far more significance than you. On a scale of signficance ranging from 1-10 (1 being the highest), you would come in at a measley -125,000, whereas I would scrape in at number 10.
April 9th, 2008 at 10:52 am
No, I don’t, just the wheels of industry ticking over
April 9th, 2008 at 10:53 am
My mum thinks I’m better than you, she said so
April 9th, 2008 at 11:29 am
Read your barney on the grauniad page. That carlweathers plonker strikes me as being a bit of Chrstian type, you know, the sort who claims not to see the entertainment in gore just to look holier-than-thou, the sort who avoid things rather than confronting them. The sort of person usually reserved for slave labour and the priesthood.
April 9th, 2008 at 11:37 am
…and he was shit in Action Jackson
April 9th, 2008 at 11:44 am
“My mum thinks I’m better than you, she said so”
Indeed you may be … at moaning anonymously on an online diary nobody reads, that is. I’ll give you that, you spineless coward.
I reckon I’m better than you at everything else.
April 9th, 2008 at 11:47 am
Weathers was alright in Predator. Until his arm came off … or didn’t come off, to be precise. He was also alright as Apollo Creed. Give the guy a break. At least he’s not Billy Dee Williams.
April 9th, 2008 at 12:07 pm
He was shit in it, I’d like him if he shaved off his face
April 9th, 2008 at 12:16 pm
did a post you might enjoy, P
April 9th, 2008 at 12:20 pm
He wasn’t shit in it. Mind you, what you know about proper films could be written on the back of a postage stamp. I imagine Weathers isn’t artsy-fartsy enough for the likes of you. You ponce.
April 9th, 2008 at 12:31 pm
No, I find him a little shit, good for the likes of those whose minds have been made smooth by soaps
Oh, my friend who works for Holby City, they printed off your review and distributed it among cast and crew…
Oh dear
April 9th, 2008 at 12:32 pm
Where’s your link John…
April 9th, 2008 at 12:35 pm
You must think he’s shit because your mind’s been blasted into submission by property and cookery shows.
And did your friend give you any feedback about my even-handed review?
April 9th, 2008 at 12:36 pm
http://ofsomedescription.wordpress.com/2008/04/09/best-of-the-west/
Wouldn’t need that if I were on the blogroll eh?
April 9th, 2008 at 12:39 pm
I’ve belatedly stuck you on mine, John. Mind you, I’ll shove any old shit on my blogroll … which is why Piqued’s there.
April 9th, 2008 at 12:44 pm
Why thank you, and what a link it is too.
April 9th, 2008 at 12:47 pm
Y’welcome.
April 9th, 2008 at 12:50 pm
John, I was doing it to help others find your blog, I’m kind like that
NC, There’s a contract out for you
April 9th, 2008 at 12:56 pm
I reckon I cold hold my own against a pack of mummers, Piqued.
April 9th, 2008 at 1:01 pm
John, you’re now on the blogroll, you owe me yeah as you’ll now have literally ones of people visiting you every few years
You reckon you could do you NC, I’ve heard you’re known round your parts as the ‘yellow tit’
AND I’M NOT TALKING BIRDS NEITHER
April 9th, 2008 at 1:06 pm
Yes I do. Actors are ponces, like wot you are, and easily duffable-uppable. And you’re a yellow tit, you yellow tit. The kind of man who confesses on his own site to not giving a fella a good hiding when he spills his pint.
A poltroon. A turncoat. That’s all you are, and I’ll prove it when I move down your way by giving you a hammering you won’t soon forget. You middle-aged coward.
April 9th, 2008 at 1:10 pm
It’ll be street fighter all over again.
April 9th, 2008 at 1:17 pm
You won’t get anywhere near me NC, round my way we have crews and I’m the leader of my crew, that’s right, I have a cap and a badge and everything
You see a woggle in south London, you’re going down yeah
April 9th, 2008 at 1:18 pm
No it won’t, John. BOTH parties fight in Street Fighter. In the contest I’m planning, it’ll go:
1. Piqued puts up ineffectual dukes in feeble attempt to defend himself
2. Napoleon wades in and gives him a hammering he’ll not soon forget
3. Napoleon steals unconscious Piqued’s wallet
April 9th, 2008 at 1:18 pm
I’m not beneath hitting a scout.
April 9th, 2008 at 1:45 pm
A Scout?
HOWABOWT THE LAST BOY SCOT YEAH
April 9th, 2008 at 1:46 pm
I MEAN ‘SCOWT’
*maintains aggresive pose*
April 9th, 2008 at 5:06 pm
And, in the red corner it’s Napolean Cockaparte (tries not to snigger) weighing in at a weight, (throws him a bright red towel)…in the blue corner it’s the home boy, piqued, weighing in at another weight, (throws him a blue towel). May the best blogger win…(chucks a few bananas into the ring as she leaves)