Just a quickie as I’m naffing off to Latitude festival in the morning to roll about in mud and pretend to be relaxed for four days despite the fact that all I’ll be thinking about is the pikey that is probably be robbing/pissing on my tent. As thousands of free spirits around me soak up the bohemian atmosphere and revel in the cultural offerings all I will be able to do is fret myself into coma over the second test at Lord‘s (cricket, for the uninitiated) and slowly but surely develop irritable bowel syndrome due to the constant fear about how much money I’m spending and the continual diet of lager and super noodles. I;m already starting to worry about Tuesday, when I go back to work. Part of wishes this festival was over already so I could just get the work-based misery over. Oh christ, I may as well stay at home. I’ve got Sky Sports. Fuck culture. Seriously, I would have far more fun at home with no company other than a packet of Kettle chips, The Times and a televised projection of Nasser Hussein frightening bird-like face.
Why can’t I just relax?
I’ll tell you WHY. Because I am a dating HOUND hot on the scent of LOVE. It’s as if Love was nothing more than a terrified fox, tearing it’s way through the knotty wood of Life, as I, the frenzied bloodhound of Romance, track it down with all the mercy of a Nazi concentration camp guard with Asperger‘s, eventually tearing it’s guts out as if the meaning of life itself was buried somewhere deep in it‘s vertebral column, as it squeaks and twitches and bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.
So fuck you, Love, I’m coming to get you. Like it or not.
So the old batch are out (I’m losing 2-3 in rejections, incidentally) and the new recruits are lined up. There’ll be a few dates over the next 2-3 weeks. This has no immediate impact on your life but it means for me that I need to wash some clothes (but not my sheets, not yet) and practice not being a total spaz in front of women.
Sorry, what’s that, mate? Does that mean you won’t be able to have a date over the weekend? Oh ye of little faith, fat chops. I’ve only gone and lined one up for Latitude, ain’t I? First date at a festival. Lovely stuff. This means I’ve got another fucking thing to worry about this weekend. Great.
Yeah thanks, everyone, I’m off to have FUN now.
Bye bye bye bye bye and bye.
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Good bye and good luck Romeo, and good luck to that fox!
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