Laptop Nazis.

   Friends, followers, Elliot,
   We've got a new computer, the last one died so we've replaced it, like a dog or a family member. Brilliant as this is, its taken the mother less time to strangle online freedom than the Chinese government.
   Except, she's a dafty so it'll be him then.
   I've just been told the laptop's gonna turn off in twenty minutes, because there's a timer on it now, it turns off at nine o'clock. Why? Why the fuck does it need to? On a Sunday! On a fucking Sunday! On a Sunday where tomorrow I've no school! Fucking graaaaggghh!!!
   Sorry.
   Not only this but she's also employed a "child safety" feature and put a pin on the Sky box which it asked me for earlier to watch a film rated 15. Censorship can fucking die. My kids are being encouraged to watch porn just to spite this woman.
   I stress that my frustration is not through my struggle for hand-shandy now. She knows full well that I'm not gonna go for wanking material on here, she's doing it to piss me off, to get at me.
   Anything, absolutely anything to get my back up.
   She's sat through the front room watching X-Factor filling the room full of smoke slowly killing herself, the bloke and the bairn and yet stops me from watching The Inbetweeners in the house in case me sister hears the word clunge from upstairs. Stupid, bitter hypocrite.
   My life's not worth the bother of telling her these things though, it never is.
   On the bright side though, Thatcher's nearly dead. Remember, the Saturday after she snuffs it, party, Trafalgar Square, 6pm - bring a bottle, bring a friend.
   Last night was Shned's 18th and a mullering night it was too. I was told I was an attractive young man, which is an ego boost at any time. For some reason I asked what could be done to improve such attributes, "loose a bit of weight" was the reply, I then must have spent a good twenty minutes telling all who's listen "I'm going on a diet!" which is bollocks.
Keep calm and carry on - Nous.

I bloody love days like this.

   Its amazing how relaxed you can be on a Sunday. Coffee Republic is a lovely place, one of those few places in Aylesbury where you can sit for hours and not be bothered by anybody, the music doesn't loop too much, its quiet and student-friendly-ly cheap (Toby, this is a adjective to adverb neologism, calm down).
   Today's been cool, bright and refreshing like any Sunday should be and this has lead me to a brilliant conclusion.
   Every day should be a Sunday!
   Not just a month of Sundays but an eternity of Sundays, every day, forever a Sunday and forever like this one. The papers are better, people are happier, coffee house music doesn't grind on the ear and the stresses of life melt away into the sunlight playing through the window across a tea-stained copy of The Bucks Herald.
   Everyday would go like this:
   Get up at about happast nine, ten o'clock, put on a T-shirt and go downstairs; make toast and watch some cartoons; head up town to a quiet corner and do a few hours work; have a sandwich; do some more work; leave at five and head to the pub to watch the football (all kickoffs are happast five); have a few more drinks, get a takeaway and not worry about the weight or the hangover because of the supernatural phenomenon of nothing mattering on a Sunday.
   Perfect, eh?
   Today's a lovely day and if tomorrow was Sunday it would be even better, its that time of year when during the day it's either just warm enough for a T-shirt or just cold enough for a woolly jumper and at night its cold enough for a big coat and a vest and clear enough to see the stars. It might be the soppy romantic inside me but I bloody love it (Keegan voice).
   The crispness of the leaves and the roll of the conkers underfoot, the freshness of the air on your face and the warming sunshine in a a still, windless park.
   Time seems to go slower, as if there's twenty-five hours in the day, you can afford to take your time and still have everything done; lie in the bath for that extra five minutes, have a proper shave, mess about with your hair, have another coffee,walk around in a circle just to see something again and read things you already know but be interested nonetheless.
   I want everyday to be just like this.
-Nous

I survived.

   The week's been pretty mundane, the weekend was pretty lush.
   Friday night at The Rivets Club, The Electro-Possums play drunk to  crowd of some forty at what is basically a jam night but hopefully will become a decent music event monthly. I ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers, Paddy got me a Maccy Dee's and I got a taxi home with my bollocks hanging out.
   Saturday night was a party at Jesse's place for her 18th up in Newton Longville, bit of a trek to be honest, had a chat with the Marxist Glaswegian bus driver who has a laugh with me all the time and got trolley'd, as is to be expected. Half four in the morning I wake up to find some twat with a pole and no T-shirt on shouting about how "if [we] all don't get out here now and own up to whoever put Charlie's jumper on the fire and take it like a man then [we're] all getting smashed up."
   After explaining, calmly that Charlie "probably deserved it, he was shouting racist torrents of abuse at the only black lad at the party earlier and maybe he should just shut his cake hole next time" and even so that this was all "by the by because if you don't stop playing Tarzan so the bird in the conservatory can see waving a stick about and saying things like "I will defend your honour!" I'll be unable to sleep and thus, be a little bit grumpy, resulting in the hideous mutilation of certain areas of your more delicate body parts" he calmed down too.
   The world isn't built for those of us hovering over 6' but it does have it's up sides.
   So yeah, that was a laugh, got a lift to Bletchley of Jesse's mum, assumed that the buses didn't stop there for AY so got on one to MK City where I discovered I'd missed a bus by five minutes and would have to wait three hours for the next one, scrounged in phone boxes until I had enough for a chip butty, got the bus back through Bletchley -.-... and got hyem.
   After a heavy night and long journey, no matter how warmingly sunny, a shower is usually first port of call...
   I got naked, as usual.
   I grabbed the stuff I usually use to wash myself with, as usual.
   And slipped on my arse, sprained my ankle and put my right elbow through the wall...

No, I didn't have a fanny transplanted to my arm.

   Now, you know when people say "yeah, but you should have seen the other guy?"
   You should have seen the other guy.

The other guy.

   Yeah Roy, I fucked that tile up big time.

   The staff were very understanding when I took the camera out of my pocket though, and for those of you who haven't had this sort of thing done, go and injure yourself, local anaesthetic is the most fun you can have with a needle this side of heroin.

"This might sound weird but I write a blog and up until this happened I didn't
have a topic for today's entry, when you're finished, can I take a photo?"

   So there we have it, I survived 10/10/10, just about.
   Catch ye's next week.
- Nous.

SAY NO TO TORY CUnTS!

   Less than a month after my court appearance as a witness I've been thrown a possible appearance in the dock by West Midlands Polis over what I deemed to be a rather ingenious use of the word "cunt".
   My placard, which I can't show you because it was confiscated by PC Overkill, was deemed to be in breach of the public order act in Birmingham today and I'll find out within a fortnight whether or not I've been summonsed to a Magistrates' Court hearing with, presumably, three Tory voters on the bench and my pleas of "I'm dyslexic" (I'm not *tehehe*) or "well, let's be honest; they are" are unlikely to rub them up too well.
   The fact that it was to be viewed by members of the press who wouldn't be able to publish it, fellow anti-cunts, I mean, cuts protesters and the occasional Alsation didn't seem to matter, truth be known, I shouted "Tory cunts!" at the ones I did see without my sign anyway.
   So yeah, wish me luck.
   The rest of the day was a laugh though. To be fair, it was all a laugh, even the replacement bus services me and Jake had to put up with.
   Anyway, I've forgotten what else I had planned for this blog entry, (maybe it's better to keep the shorter?) so hence forth this is a "freestyle" blog.
   Today's happenings have influenced me to use the following uses of the English language as features for my English language lessons:

Turds are funny, class inequality is not.

Poo jokes are common place.

I haven't used "cock-faced tit wank" enough as an insult.

   To be honest, I'm tired, here's the link if you're enjoying these - http://www.moneymad.org/David_Cameron_defaced_posters.htm

   Same time, next week?

- Nous.