Humbug.

This week I’ve been mostly clocking in some serious overtime for my massive essay on the Latin American drugs tarade but the only thing I can only compare it to the method of shitting at a music festival. You spend much longer than usual taking in and digesting heaps of stuff without letting any go, then (probably in some shady pub toilet) you have to unleash a massive log. I just hope that the mood upon finishing this essay will somehow match the euphoric, godly post-shit feeling.

The library’s a quaint place. So many familiar faces from freshers week, nights out and old lectures that it’s impossible to walk around without giving out several gratuitous nods and smiles. Still, there’s nothing quite like seeing people who were previously blixed and talking crap to you in town, give you ‘that’ look of discomfiture when they remember seeing you. Better hope the wind doesn’t change or I’ll be stuck looking like a fanny for the rest of my life.

Completely unrelated: Pablo Escobar (so famous that his name registers in microsoft word) is one of my new anti-heroes. Talk about a successful entrepreneur! The guy wrote off $40 Million in notes because he had to store them in a basement where they decomposed because he forgot about them. He had enough money to pay Columbia’s national debt, and died in a gunfight. His multi-hectare ‘jail cell’ had a jacuzzi, fax machine and hookers amongst other things. Not bad for a fat guy with a ‘tash.

On the note of money, or lack of, I can’t believe it’s only about five weeks ‘til Christmas. One pay left and I haven’t bought a single thing. I envy those kids in Africa where they only gift they get (and have to buy) is life. I guess that the only thing I actually enjoy about Christmas is playing the annual novelty gig for Fudge. This will be the first ‘terror gig since summer and boy can’t I wait to get back to the stage and do the whole rock n roll thing again.