Computers computers everywhere and not a face to smash…

Work, as of late, has been insufferable. Not content to with the gnawing happenings of a of a recession, yesterday the entire fucking system at work fell onto its arse and began rolling about on the proverbial cyber floor like Stephen Hawkings having a fit. I could get email but access to the internet was firmly and flatly denied causing me to lose my customary Fonz-like cool with anyone who so much as dared look at me. I decided it was best for everyone if I took myself off home and crawled into a corner with my coat over my head and whine softly until it all went away.

As a subsequence I’m working from home, not in the euphemistic sense of wanking my helmet red-raw but, aside from this woefully short entry, in the actual sense of having to use my telephone to call clients and shit. Despite the situation in the office and in the greater economy of the world, I’ve still deadlines to fulfil.

As a direct result of this Piqued is to become less regular. 3 or 4 times a week now instead of 5, this is purely down to workloads both in and out of the office. On Monday next week, for example, I’m doing something unmentionable again. I need to prepare.

I do have time to mention this, I notice that the oil companies are being invited to Iraq to divvy up the vast oil fields that both Blair and Bush said didn’t exist (or were impossible to access) 5 years ago. No one even bothers to bring up the whole weapons of mass destruction excuse anymore, Saddam and his cronies have been executed, Dr. David Kelly bumped off so we’re not subject to anymore objection from them and the US have terra firma right next to Iran who, sooner or later, they’ll invade. Five years ago I said this would happen, and you know what, everyone I spoke to agreed. This act of western criminality is so ridiculously transparent it actually beggars belief, why on earth the good thinking people of the west aren’t up in arms about it is beyond me…

…Oh hang on, we still like cheap foreign holidays, quality transport links, our white goods and TV’s. Unless we all go and live in the woods and snare our own food that is cooked over a sustainable source of burnable fuel we’re part of the problem, hypocrisy is so very passé isn’t it. As my old man always said to me, essentially ‘we’ are the government and to those ends we are in some way, whether you like it or not, responsible.

No Youtube again I’m afraid, I can’t be pissed to explain why.

Piqued has informed me that I should inform you that his computer network is dead and that normal service will be resumed tomorrow. Thankyou and goodbye.

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