060509 Fun=Work

Shouldn’t. Have:

Smoked loads of spliffs.
Wanked over my friends boyfriend/my ex-boyfriend.
Eaten what I did.
Not gone to the swimming pool.
Lost touch with reality. Sorry, the recession.

Today was cool. I ate cornflakes in the middle of the night. This not smoking thing is tough. And there’s only so long the amoeba’s gonna keep me trim. Must. Get. Exercise. Survival. Of. Fittest.

Anyway, I did babies instead, involving strawberry ice cream, a bit of puke and lots of gossip. She fell asleep on my shoulder and hasn’t done that on anyone else. Feel the vibe, sister. My friend kept calling it karma. Bent double I were.

Apparently, her face bore a look of unadulterated horror when, in the middle of her caesarean, they told her they’d fitted her with a catheter:

“oh my god, will I pee without knowing?”

When her husband decided to have a gander at the sex of the baby (nice) he was greeted with the sight of her intestines. Also nice.

Now what was it again that happens to me when I live in Brighton? Oh yes, I get a bit fat, very stoned, wear tracksuit bottoms and have no lustre for my job. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, need time to fix it. But where does the time go in this beautiful unemployed world of mine? It’s one am now and I should be tucked up in bed. But I’m free! I’m free! I can stay up late pretending to be a writer (I use two fingers when I type). Maybe I can go on a jobwise touch-typing course. Yeah man.

Decaf tea’s okay y’know.

I am enjoying this writing lark, but must admit I shall have to return to yesterday’s offering soon to add to it. Oh brain, why art thou not the same speed as my fingers?

Made the mistake of rolling from one chocolate-fuelled engagement into another – “pop over later if you like”. Bearing gifts of second-hand cutlery and plastic mugs, I cycled to Luke’s house. There we ate and smoked till the sun gave up, and entertained a lovely couple by the name of Steve and Bo.

Best remnant of the night a disjointed conflab about united nations leaders and their names. Bankie Moon and the like. Wrote down on an old scrap;

‘Uterus Con Carne, Koffee Anne, Joanne Umley and Alfie Moon’.

Could have been a comedy sketch or just a cartoon. I can imagine a cheesy 50s American voiceover shouting, “and introducing…………………….”. Either that, or a camp, hormone-invested, middle-aged woman a la Marjory Daws having a conversation with her hairdresser. Anyway, comedy ain’t my line of business………………………………….

Gor, did you know that spellcheck doesn’t recognise ‘Alfie’, but does ‘Lumley’?!

Fun can be hard work. I’m used to there being one dominant brain in the room (yours truly), and there were all sorts of smart witty comments being rebounded round the room. Is it because I’m upstaged? Old? Protective of my close friends? There’s always a relief when I get home.

But then, wanking is best done in private I find.