heated
It’s fucking hot already; it’s still early but already I have persps on my goddamn face. This doesn’t bode well. I like warm and sunny but I don’t like oven baked. No, Sir. I don’t like it.
I was forced onto a tube last night in order to meet Harry, that was fucking hot too. And I couldn’t sleep properly because I was fucking hot…
Harry and I sat outside a pub in Fitzrovia, it was a quiet place predominantly ‘local’ with a few chirpy cockney middle-aged types in Fred Perry-esque garb, apples and pearing it over Guinness and Fosters. The atmosphere was congenial and downbeat inside but outside cool and sexy because that’s where Harry and I were sitting. Do you dig?
We sipped and chatted for a while, Harry whose knee is still fucked has to fly to Kiev for 10 days today, I told him excitedly of Bernard Matthews Chicken version and we then probably discussed Asian ‘Flu with our brows furrowed with concern.
I arrived home in the twilight and took my first bath in 10 days. The new tattoos have prevented me from any sort of submergence in water and since then I’ve had to contort myself in all sorts of absurd ways in which to clean my clackers and freckle until I resemble a less buff version of the Laocoon (the shower acts as the serpent, it does work). When I got out of the bath I had to have a separate shower to get rid of the bath water off my glistening skin and penis, in fact it wasn’t so much of ‘a bath’ more of ‘a broth’.
As I promised in yesterday’s entry, I did make Squ-Ash again last night though I omitted the butter in favour of bloody fairy-ducky sunflower oil. Big mistake, it just doesn’t work as well but of course we’re already at lofty gastric heights here so I didn’t exactly lose any sleep over it… Actually I did. By the time I’d returned home, faffed about, bathed, prepared and cooked the food it was gone ten. I’d also made rather a lot, enough for a family I should think and I ate the bloody lot, enraptured.
When I did go to bed an hour or so later this stuff was sitting in my belly like fried cement, it seemed to be pulling me into the mattress and I could feel my heart pounding in my neck as the delicious proteins and carbs decided that now was a good time to charge into my system and boost my sorry bottom into action despite the fact I was fucking well lying down trying to sleep and I was really fucking hot.
It was dreadful; I’m well versed in not eating too late precisely because these sorts of things can happen and being virtually sober I had no help whatsoever from sweet intoxicants to counter the awful desire to leap out of my pit and cycle round the block for 4 hours. Instead I read for a bit. It was fucking hot, incidentally.
The computers at work are being all tossy, so no youtube clip today. Soz, I’m fucking hot over here.
Oh, it’s Urban Woo’s birthday to day (link right) go to her how and praise her like you should d d d d d d d d d d d
