Hic hic hic.
I’ve been fucking hic-hic-hiccuping for what seems like four fuck-hic-hic-hic-ing hours. It’s late, I’m tired, I wish I didn’t have to write this. I have enjoyed it, and must keep doing it, but right now I can’t think hic of anything I less rather do. The Old Speckled Hen and the Jason Manford Live DVD combined to create an unnatural flow of air; a situation which my diaphragm has struggled to correct in the pettiest, most annoying fashion hic. Hic.
Unless you want to see me moaning about my poor unfortunate life, and repeating the word ‘hic’ at what I hope are comedically relevant moments – stop reading now. It’s not the first time I’ve used the ‘stop reading now’ schtick, but last time it was pretty close to the end of the blog post. This time it’s in the second paragraph and I’m almost certain hic I should stop reading. Yes, from now on I have no idea what my fingers are typing. If in the course of my automaton-blogging I should happen to slander you, defame you, mock or insult you hic, don’t take it personally. I am not in possession of my functions. I have checked out mentally and just want to drink a glass of water and slip peacefully into the folds of sleep.
I have a distinct memory of going into the kitchen, filling up a pint of water and returning to my current position on the bed. I reached over to the ledge which serves as my night stand to retrieve my water, only to grasp empty space hic. No water. My memories are false. The room is too warm.
I walked round to Ned’s house at about 8pm, and up one street was a house blasting weird slow tippy-tappy synth music, and another blasting Sky Sports News on a massive wall-mounted TV clearly visible through the window. As I walked home about four hours later, the exact same music and TV channel filled the street. It was a bizarre de ja vu experience made weirder by the way the properly odd music wafted right down the street. Under normal circumstance I should try to extrapolate a wider point from this slight observation; to expand this minor event into a discussion on a more interesting subject. This is definitely not going to happen tonight.
Matt (Assa) asked me to do his album cover. I forgot what he said the album was called, but the image he wanted was of an ash tray massively overfilled with old docked-out fags. Detailed drawings in the marker-pen and fine-liner style you can see on my facebook page. I am well into the idea (but played it cool on the phone, you know, cos these guys are all hip hop n that); I’ll add it to te pile of drawings I need to do. It’s slightly annoying that as I’m trying to focus on writing people are actually starting to show an interest in the drawings. Good stuff I suppose. Hic.
More later. Fuck off.