This, too
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The last thing that I tried to read aloud came out in a disturbingly good Polish accent...
It is a few days since I slept anywhere but for a stolen moment in a strange, pitch-black bathroom. I've felt worse, to be honest.
Apparently, I stole icecream and then threw it up on somebody's something and then fell over and lost something, or so it goes.
After, "...so that [the RAF, the neighbours, the somebody-else's-alarm, the kookaburra] explains why I'm a bit sleepy" I clearly should have said, "...and why I will not stay out, to-night."
Oh well. In the event, we quickly chose our place-to-sit-while-drinking based on available flag data. "Luanda, Luanda, Luanda!" Let's get drunk and talk about oil and landmine treaties.
In this potential company, Portugal's own banner remains conspicious by its absence.
On looking behind our Angolanised position I suppose that I could have read something of a negative omen into the backdrop to a day of drinking.
There's another flag picture that I'd have tagged, "(RO) Korea and Togoland (or whatever the kids are calling it), together at last" and another in which the exit sign lies atop the Aussie flag, but I can't be arsed with this, anymore, so we're just going to move on.
I can't believe that people would let me drink lager just because of a depletion of ale and Southern Comfort stocks, nor that they would let me eat at a self servicey thingi Chinese place. Who's the responsible one? No fucker. Good'o.
What else?
Well, I'm here because... I'm not asleep, I suppose, and because I am trying to resist the urge to electronically pester my favourite friend, whose displayed unavailability I do not fully believe, and because I achieved that, for a time, by catching up on two or three months of your lives, Diarylanders. Most of you are having no more fun than I. Huzzah!
At least I turned twenty-four, apparently. And was asked for ID at every pub I went to on the day (anything to do with the proudly-worn Dogtanian T-shirt given by my sister?). Shut up, it's more than you did.
Only when drunk or hungover do I decide to walk along the slippery banks of the Leeds-Liverpool.
I can't remember what else I wanted to say, and so (was it about Yugoslavia? These days it's usually about Yugoslavia, with me) I'm just going to investigate the appearance on the list-of-people-who-read-this-crap of what does very much appear to be a Lali Puna song title. Innnteresting.
Toodles.
1:44 p.m. - 2006-06-04
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