It's Friday evening. The night that the young, well-hung working masses pour into the bars and clubs and head-bang their cares away. They drink, they dance, they make eye contact across crowded rooms. Anything could happen. It's great to be young.
I will not be one of those Friday Night People. No. I will be here, at my desk, until at least 19:00. From here I will drive the hour home, collect another bottle of wine and go to my boyfriend's sister in law's house for the Trick or Treating I will have missed. Better late than never? Maybe not. My only saving grace at this point is the fact that I have not invested in a costume. I did go to Sainsbury's to buy a witch's hat but I left with no hat and an impressively expensive scratch down the side of my car. What is it with me and cars?
Speaking of which, tomorrow I shall be going to see a car. A potential addition to the metal graveyard that is my legacy. I'm not even excited.
I feel a little scared.
I have eaten half a chocolate loaf cake today. I have been in touch with Kate's people about getting her to release a statement about what she's eaten. It's coming people . . . it's coming.
I've been working on The Small Cat Diaries - I think it needs some photo evidence. I am planning some kind of permanent toy installation to keep Steve occupied. The furniture can't take much more.
Must busy myself. Must complete Friday night tasks. Must supply data to Scotts of Stow.
Yours sincerely,
Crash Bandicoot
1 comment:
Oh Monkey - the cake eating impresses me so does the lack of witch .. fuck the man - save the empire - please please knock yourself out - you have the checkbook, by all means order the chinese ...
dear about the car, dear about the jeans - dear about the sister of your boyfriends thing ..
I mostly went to the library today and wrote you yet another depressing letter - on the up and up I have decided to chanel my mental ness into a book project and shall be sending you a chapter a week. lucky you!
Keep strong my little monk keep strong xxxxx
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