Saturday, June 30, 2007

Did you really think this through?

Saturday, June 30, 2007 3
It's suicide bomber, you fucking muppet.

Not suicide 'set myself on fire and try and rub up against people and hope they catch fire too' guy.

Hey, I have no interest in innocent Glaswegians being blown up, whoever they happen to support, but really, 'must try harder' all over that lad's report.

Shrek the Turd

Family time. Sigh. For some reason, it doesn't count as 'family time' if I spend the morning lying in bed being served pain au chocolat and multiple espressi by the common law and daughters. The fuck is that about?

So the plan, formulated without a thought for any Friday evening debauchery in which I may have hoped to indulge, was to get out early and get it done. It being a 10am showing of the new Shrek movie to be followed quickly, and before I can think about it, by shopping for the upcoming holiday.

10am is a little too early to be in a cinema. It is much too early to be in a cinema with two children and a slight hangover. And it is a completely fucking insane hour to begin lowering various kinds of sugar into their baby birdesque gaping mouths.

Because it's all very well at the time. Riker mechanically shovels three calorific days of worth of popcorn into her tense little mouth. Data slowly and purposefully inhales a Cornetto, with a minimum of wastage down her front. Peace reigns as we move through the ads and trailers. But there's trouble on the way, folks. You can see it in the glaze of their eyes and in the corners of their sugar encrusted mouths. Storm's a brewing.

The film happens.

We leave. We move to Penney's. And so it begins. Riker is eight, and as a rule carries herself with the long suffering air of an Irish mother. Her sugar crash expresses itself through the sighs of melancholy and silent intimations of chronic fatigue which I recognise from my days as a Curehead. Not really a problem. Quiet suffering suits me fine.

Data is another matter. She's two and a half. A magical age. Or so random strangers on the bus inform me as she smiles angelically at them, flashing those big peepers that her mother used to ensnare me. Those random strangers weren't downstairs in Penney's at midday today. Uh uh. No, it got all 28 days later pretty quick about that time. I'm talking eerily empty spaces and crazed slavering non-zombie zombies. Or just the one as it turned out.

I'm not saying it was this:

But folks, it was pretty darn close.

And the movie. A disgusting, putrid fucking insult to the sweet memory of the first Shrek. Not that the kids cared. Choc full of their drug of choice that early in the morning, they probably would have happily sat through Hostel - Part II.

Maybe next week.

Friday, June 29, 2007

It's Friday, fuckers.

Friday, June 29, 2007 1
I was lying in that last post. I'm not lovely at all.

Geldof, and indeed Spencer, got it all fucking wrong. It's Friday that's the complete cunt.

On Monday I had six sessions and was too fucking busy to think about shooting school children or how shitty life must be for those poor bastards in Africa, but today I'm winding down for the weekend, have just the two sessions this evening (meaning I may not ingest anything to keep those contemplation demons away) and therefore have plenty of opportunity to allow inertia to set in. And boy, has it set in.

I have not washed the floor.
I have not changed the sheets.
I have not mowed the lawn.
And I have not rinsed the things that need to be rinsed.

But there's a big internet out there full of crap that i don't need to read, watch or listen to. So I'd better get to it.

First Blood

Here it is.

My first post.

Like me so far?

'Course you do, I'm lovely.
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