I can barely remember what’s happened in my life and the world in the last two weeks, and as this series is as much about improving my memory as making your oiled clitoris moist at how masochistically funny I am, I’m gonna talk about the few events that faintly flash through my mind from the past couple of weeks.
I know I went to Camden at some point to see my mates The Makarov Scheme play at The Underworld, and I remember feeling pretty exhausted the whole time and was super grumpy and not a big fan of Camden. The guys were great though, and there were some pretty interesting characters around:
- A half-naked guy walking into people and shouting at them.
- An old guy who looked like a drunk, tattooed Santa in disguise who asked us for change and was still there three hours later and was so rude to passers by that an old lady came up to me and said, ‘That man is seriously ill.’
- Some girl who walked out from a bush after having a poo right in front of me. I know right, I didn’t know girls could poo, either.
If not for the music, being so near to Kentish Town I would have much rather have been hunting down Giles Coren—as I made very clear to my mate Joe. Then again, I was too tired to go convincingly incognito when all I could do at the gig was enthusiastically bob my head—alone on the balcony—to teenage punk bands. Hell, at least I didn’t have a beard.
My facial hair is way too pubescent to count as a beard, but nevertheless I have vowed to myself that I am not going to shave until exams are over, and then I can shave as a reward to give myself something to look forward to. I like shaving, especially (my) pubes. That’s a lie. Shaving (my) pubes hurts, so I only do it around holidays, then when I give myself a builder’s bum for the swimming trunks, all you get to see is my magnificent arse crack and possibly a bit of bum hair. At least I’m not hiding the real shit.
What else? Oh yeah, I saw Mad Max: Fury Road. WHICH WAS ABSOLUTELY INSANE AND IS MY FILM OF THE YEAR, ‘nuf said.
…eeerrrr.
Yesterday I went on my monthly hike with my mother in the Forest of Dean. I saw a falcon kill something, a great crested newt (as Will pointed out, is every boy’s dream sight), a gaggle of spermy-looking tadpoles, a shrew, and some fresh hoof prints of wild boar piglets. Pretty funky, eh. It’s a beautiful place that I definitely recommend a visit to.
Now as I sit here watching two pigeons brainlessly fuck outside the window on a telephone line, I am reminded that my brother won his second national medal for rowing this weekend—a bronze for the J15 coxed quad—around an hour and a half ago. He won a gold in the J15 double on Friday. The beastly bastard. This is the third National Schools rowing event that I will have missed being a part of since becoming ill. How frustrating: sad face.
The pigeons have gone their separate ways. What a shame.
poetic rage 