Not a blog about racism, Harry Redknapp or Whitney Houston
Hello my people
My blog today is brought to you by the letters G, C, F, C and the numbers 4 and 0. Bad Genoa! In an act of flagrant disregard to recent internet-based blog subjects, I'm not going to write about: the next England manager, how naughty Luis Suarez was, or Whitney Houston. Ha, take that, The Man and your tedious conventions!
After my last post, my dad enquired if it was possible for English teachers (I assume he meant me) to use just one word instead of a meandering ten. It is an interesting point, and one which I feel that, while having merit, is ultimately not as satisfying for the writer as it denudes the chance for him (me) to stick his (my) vocabulary in your face. And let's face it, this blog is at its core just an opportunity for me to sound off about some of the various inconsequentialities of my life. I recognise and accept that perhaps using one word might save you, the dear reader, some time in your busy life. But then at the same time, if your life is so busy then I'd really recommend not wasting valuable moments reading this purposefully long and pointless paragraph, and, moreover, recommend that you switch the computer off and go and embrace life. So, in conclusion, while writing spartan, mono-syllabic sentences may be possible, they're not going to happen while I'm the captain of this ship.
I try to keep my updates light and avoid depressing subject matters, which is why you never read about romantic adventures on here. However, today I'm mostly going to feel sorry for myself. See, since my last post, life has been disappointing. I've still not won the lottery, super models continue to refuse to sashay seductively into my life, and despite crossing my fingers, closing my eyes and hoping really hard, I've still not become a professional footballer. So, yeah, life sucks. On top of which last week I had gastric flu, so I spent quite a long time tenderly embracing my toilet while wanting to just die already. As any man will attest, being ill is terrible, and something that chicks just can't understand, in my humble opinion.
On top of this, I've also broken my iPod. It just fell out my pocket one night as I was going to bed and fell flat on its face. As carpetting hasn't yet made it this far south, it connected with the unforgiving tile floor, and gave of an unsatisfying crack sound. For around ten minutes I then made unsatisfied sounds myself, using a cunning combination of colourful English and Italian language, which I refer to 'swearing in two fecking languages'. Happy, I was not. It put me in mind of what may be a rule of physics, but is more likely just Sod's Law, in which if you butter a slice of toast and drop it, it always falls butter side down. Or if you drop a cat, it always lands on its feet. This inevitably leads to the fun daydream of attaching a slice of buttered toast to a surprised cat's back and dropping the cat. I imagine it hovers over the ground and spins in a circle, two laws of science fighting each other. Or the cat would claw your face off while you were attempting to tie the toast to it, and thus never reach the dubiously scientific part of the experiment in the first place. After all that, the iPod still works but has a big crack running down the middle of the screen, which while making it unique, also makes it broken. Ho hum. If you have a 64gb iPod touch (version 4, I think) and you feel as sorry for myself as I do, please get in touch and I'll give you my address.
Mere days after this tragedy, my new headphones also broke, but in an act of freakish prescience, I had thrown away the receipt the day before. Gah! They were nice headphones as well. Double gah!
If you're reading this back in Blighty, I'm sure you're cold. But then you live in Britain, and it's February, so this should not be a surprise. I, on the other hand, live in the Mediterranean, and it's bloody freezing here. So cold, in fact, that I've bought a pair of thermal trousers and a long-sleeved thermal t-shirt. To say that the trousers are a revelation would be fact. People always bang on about sliced bread, but for my money my thermal trousers are the best thing ever. I have become quite attached to them, which is starting to be a problem as I've worn them for more than a week now, and I fear they may have melded onto my skin. I should really take them off soon, or at least when I have a shower.
The other night I went to a wee gig with friend of the blog, Fra, to see a band called PornoShock. I'll let you draw your own conclusions on their artistic merit, or crashing, flouncing, lack of it.
I'm sure there was something else I meant to include in this, but it eludes me, so, til next time Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
My blog today is brought to you by the letters G, C, F, C and the numbers 4 and 0. Bad Genoa! In an act of flagrant disregard to recent internet-based blog subjects, I'm not going to write about: the next England manager, how naughty Luis Suarez was, or Whitney Houston. Ha, take that, The Man and your tedious conventions!
After my last post, my dad enquired if it was possible for English teachers (I assume he meant me) to use just one word instead of a meandering ten. It is an interesting point, and one which I feel that, while having merit, is ultimately not as satisfying for the writer as it denudes the chance for him (me) to stick his (my) vocabulary in your face. And let's face it, this blog is at its core just an opportunity for me to sound off about some of the various inconsequentialities of my life. I recognise and accept that perhaps using one word might save you, the dear reader, some time in your busy life. But then at the same time, if your life is so busy then I'd really recommend not wasting valuable moments reading this purposefully long and pointless paragraph, and, moreover, recommend that you switch the computer off and go and embrace life. So, in conclusion, while writing spartan, mono-syllabic sentences may be possible, they're not going to happen while I'm the captain of this ship.
I try to keep my updates light and avoid depressing subject matters, which is why you never read about romantic adventures on here. However, today I'm mostly going to feel sorry for myself. See, since my last post, life has been disappointing. I've still not won the lottery, super models continue to refuse to sashay seductively into my life, and despite crossing my fingers, closing my eyes and hoping really hard, I've still not become a professional footballer. So, yeah, life sucks. On top of which last week I had gastric flu, so I spent quite a long time tenderly embracing my toilet while wanting to just die already. As any man will attest, being ill is terrible, and something that chicks just can't understand, in my humble opinion.
On top of this, I've also broken my iPod. It just fell out my pocket one night as I was going to bed and fell flat on its face. As carpetting hasn't yet made it this far south, it connected with the unforgiving tile floor, and gave of an unsatisfying crack sound. For around ten minutes I then made unsatisfied sounds myself, using a cunning combination of colourful English and Italian language, which I refer to 'swearing in two fecking languages'. Happy, I was not. It put me in mind of what may be a rule of physics, but is more likely just Sod's Law, in which if you butter a slice of toast and drop it, it always falls butter side down. Or if you drop a cat, it always lands on its feet. This inevitably leads to the fun daydream of attaching a slice of buttered toast to a surprised cat's back and dropping the cat. I imagine it hovers over the ground and spins in a circle, two laws of science fighting each other. Or the cat would claw your face off while you were attempting to tie the toast to it, and thus never reach the dubiously scientific part of the experiment in the first place. After all that, the iPod still works but has a big crack running down the middle of the screen, which while making it unique, also makes it broken. Ho hum. If you have a 64gb iPod touch (version 4, I think) and you feel as sorry for myself as I do, please get in touch and I'll give you my address.
Mere days after this tragedy, my new headphones also broke, but in an act of freakish prescience, I had thrown away the receipt the day before. Gah! They were nice headphones as well. Double gah!
If you're reading this back in Blighty, I'm sure you're cold. But then you live in Britain, and it's February, so this should not be a surprise. I, on the other hand, live in the Mediterranean, and it's bloody freezing here. So cold, in fact, that I've bought a pair of thermal trousers and a long-sleeved thermal t-shirt. To say that the trousers are a revelation would be fact. People always bang on about sliced bread, but for my money my thermal trousers are the best thing ever. I have become quite attached to them, which is starting to be a problem as I've worn them for more than a week now, and I fear they may have melded onto my skin. I should really take them off soon, or at least when I have a shower.
The other night I went to a wee gig with friend of the blog, Fra, to see a band called PornoShock. I'll let you draw your own conclusions on their artistic merit, or crashing, flouncing, lack of it.
I'm sure there was something else I meant to include in this, but it eludes me, so, til next time Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
posted by michael | 08:03
1 Comments:
They do say bad luck comes in 3's. iPod breaks, headphones break, Genoa get humped. Still, things can only get better!
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