As these entries lower in frequency I’d love to say it was because something tremendous has taken over my life and I don’t have time to write them anymore, however only the latter part of that statement is true. Reading about the drugs trade is still fascinating but when you spend the guts of a month researching and five nights writing an essay on Mexico’s 2000 presidential election you know uni’s consuming your life. Then again, only six more months and I’ll be able to go knocking on doors for that full-time job.
Fitness has also been a pretty big thing in the past few months with at least one full-on gym session occurring every week. Don’t get me wrong, I love the satisfaction of eating a king rib supper straight after a work-out as much as the next person but I’ve realised the dark and sweaty corners of a fitness centre propagate two things: bacteria and homosexuality. Bacteria is part of the package, just bearable, and probably reduces the chances of catching all kinds of bugs and virii in the future, which makes up for having to stare at gorillas through the mist. However, the need for the gratuitous buftie standing butt-naked in the middle of a changing room towelling his crack and inspecting his bollocks really must be addressed.
After four years of waiting I finally managed to get tickets for a Living End gig, and it was possibly been the finest half-hour of the year. Being in awe only 10 feet away from your heroes, shouting every single word through their set was just so ace. Can’t wait ‘til they break the Europe and end up having bi-annual tours. In addition I also got a cheap ticket for the WWE tour, which was much more entertaining than I had predicted. The ringside seats guaranteed handshakes with a dozen or so wrestlers (HHH, HBK Cena, Jeff Hardy…) and being drunken, boisterous students shouting poppycock made for a pretty amusing evening.
Because going out at weekends means that most of them fuse together under the umbrella of ‘drunken shambles’ only two nights have stood out recently. The failed school reunion: well over one hundred people invited, attended by about 25. Still had an amazing time, and it provided the single most unforgettable ‘upskirt’ anyone could ever imagine – so bad that the entire priory dancefloor stood still in shock. Tonight: a Saturday night stained by the fact that everybody seems to think I’m a total raging sleaze (or something to this effect), thus won’t hang out with me. All is not lost because Wikipedia and rosé wine are making sure that at least some good comes from this void.
Final thoughts of this month – does anybody anywhere own a pair of shoes that doesn’t maul the heels and insteps of their socks? Can’t believe how many pairs I’ve been through in the past few months, god damn merciless trainers! My perpetual love for exodus is also beginning to wear, the past few weeks just haven’t done anything for me at all and the only real reason I’m there so much is because I abhor it less than every other place in town. Some serious club-swapping madness over the Christmas period is definitely afoot.
Fitness has also been a pretty big thing in the past few months with at least one full-on gym session occurring every week. Don’t get me wrong, I love the satisfaction of eating a king rib supper straight after a work-out as much as the next person but I’ve realised the dark and sweaty corners of a fitness centre propagate two things: bacteria and homosexuality. Bacteria is part of the package, just bearable, and probably reduces the chances of catching all kinds of bugs and virii in the future, which makes up for having to stare at gorillas through the mist. However, the need for the gratuitous buftie standing butt-naked in the middle of a changing room towelling his crack and inspecting his bollocks really must be addressed.
After four years of waiting I finally managed to get tickets for a Living End gig, and it was possibly been the finest half-hour of the year. Being in awe only 10 feet away from your heroes, shouting every single word through their set was just so ace. Can’t wait ‘til they break the Europe and end up having bi-annual tours. In addition I also got a cheap ticket for the WWE tour, which was much more entertaining than I had predicted. The ringside seats guaranteed handshakes with a dozen or so wrestlers (HHH, HBK Cena, Jeff Hardy…) and being drunken, boisterous students shouting poppycock made for a pretty amusing evening.
Because going out at weekends means that most of them fuse together under the umbrella of ‘drunken shambles’ only two nights have stood out recently. The failed school reunion: well over one hundred people invited, attended by about 25. Still had an amazing time, and it provided the single most unforgettable ‘upskirt’ anyone could ever imagine – so bad that the entire priory dancefloor stood still in shock. Tonight: a Saturday night stained by the fact that everybody seems to think I’m a total raging sleaze (or something to this effect), thus won’t hang out with me. All is not lost because Wikipedia and rosé wine are making sure that at least some good comes from this void.
Final thoughts of this month – does anybody anywhere own a pair of shoes that doesn’t maul the heels and insteps of their socks? Can’t believe how many pairs I’ve been through in the past few months, god damn merciless trainers! My perpetual love for exodus is also beginning to wear, the past few weeks just haven’t done anything for me at all and the only real reason I’m there so much is because I abhor it less than every other place in town. Some serious club-swapping madness over the Christmas period is definitely afoot.
