...nicely to:

Sunday

Having stayed the night in his spare room, The Ox and I had coffee and muffins for wot was left of the morning, and chatted idly. Nooma rang, and asked if I'd care to help clear the field in preparation for putting up a marquee for Smiley (Ex) Surf-Shop Gal's wedding the following weekend. I replied with a chirpy "Why the fuck would I want to do that?" Why she thought I would hasten to a field *literally* to shovel shit of a hungover Sunday morning is anybody's guess. And for a wedding I wasn't even going to. I was correctly unapologetic in the dismissal of this absurd notion.

Nooma later announced that the manoeuvring of manure had been sensibly abandoned, so instead I went to her family house for squash and McVitie's Gold bars. This seemed fitting, as both she and I had woken up with 'Gold!' in our heads that morning. Nooma, her mother and I were invited over the hill to the next village for bacon sandwiches. I initially refused to go, on account of being in last night's clothes, all crumpled and shrouded in dog hair. Mind you, Nooma's mother's trousers were flecked in cow shit - so we agreed that we'd both go without changing, provided the other did the same. Nooma's parents are funny. Did I mention they wore matching (light blue) coloured suits to the wedding, just to embarrass Nooma? Well, if I didn't, now seems as good a time as any.

Whilst in the café ordering bacon butties and cake, Nooma's mother regaled an acquaintance with details of Operation Pat. She said that it was abandoned on account of the scat being too runny, and clearly shovels were the wrong tools. Then she said that her dog began to eat some of the product, and she started to retch at the sloppy cow turd dripping from its gob. She was blissfully unaware of the customer unwittingly stationed within earshot, who pulled the sourest lemonface as he put aside what remained of his toast and HP Sauce.

After breakfast, Nooma met Blonde Curly Physio's baby, and then she joined Good Chum and I on the jaunt back east (Nooma I mean - we aren't baby thieves). The drive back was replete with chat and laughter to an occasionally uncontrollable degree, punctuated by the occasional nap. At one point, Nooma requested that I open a window. I obliged, then enquired if this was because she was too hot. She countered that no, it was because she'd "fluffed". Another barrier broken down!

We stopped by some water for fish and chips, observed a man with a dyed beard, put Nooma on her train to The Ants' Nest, and she was gone.

Later, I would receive a text which read "Hello. You ROCK! That is all. Xx" I concluded that a world in which someone who rocks thinks that you rock cannot be all that bad.

And that is all!

FIN?

...continue?

I shall!

Saturday evening

I threw on a shirt and suit, and hopped into a mini-bus heading for the wedding reception. After a brief diversion into a pub along the way, we made it to the hotel. We were greeted among others by the bride's sister - also a rather toothsome bridesmaid - who told me that I looked "gorgeous". This does not happen often, so it was a pretty good start to the evening's jollities.

We moved into the bar area, where it transpired that Impish Northern Bar Manager now works. So we got to have a good old natter and catch up. She now goes out with a chap who makes specialised remote-controlled planes for the army to shoot down in target practice. Whoever knew such a profession existed?

When I finally made my way into the main room, I joined a table where Smiley Surf-Shop Gal (actually now a teacher) was wrestling with a really geeky looking bloke who claimed to be a cage fighter. My Good Chum wot I had a lift up with was also sat at the table, and she warned me that the moment I saw Nooma in her bridesmaid's get-up, I was likely to fall in love all over again. I then made my way into a separate lounge area where a bunch of folk were playing Scrabble. Nooma interrupted her game to give me a huge hug (it's true - she was looking dazzling), and then insisted that I go and speak to the groom and look at his teeth. The groom is a slightly vain fellow (he straightens his hair!), and he'd spent a couple of thousand pounds on getting the brightest veneers you ever did see. I am proud of myself for congratulating him without being reduced to tears. By all account, he smiled so wide on the bride's entrance to the ceremony that the entire congregation recoiled, shielding their eyes with their forearms.

The reception was pretty much everything you could have wished for. The DJ played some brilliantly awful music ('Africa', 'Don't You Forget About Me', 'Livin' On A Prayer' etc) that he didn't even bother to mix, with the tracks often jarring from one to another mid-verse. This led to some dissatisfied grumbling when 'Sweet Child O'Mine' was rudely halted before the solo, just after the boys had all plugged in their air guitars. There was the bridesmaid looking for love in all the wrong places, as she made advances towards a waiter who turned out to be gay. There were the curmudgeons at the back, who refused to join in the "disco"... Admittedly I was one of those for a good deal of the evening. And then there was the exquisite bride herself, who somehow deftly consumed messy vol-au-vents which should have by rights disgorged all over her dress.

Sometime in the latter half of the evening, Nooma and I sat down for a heart-to-heart. Since she ditched her poseur ex, some barriers between us have crumbled, and we can both be considerably more frank with one another. Now, in recent history, he has been attempting to guilt Nooma into going back out with him. I'm led to believe that he's been dragging her over the coals a bit, and she had a pretty miserable New Year period on account of this. However, recently a certain femme told me that he was seeing another girl during this period, and had now hooked up with another (said femme, in fact). So whilst seeing other people, he'd had the temerity to use words such as "I can't imagine myself with anyone else" as weapons with Nooma. So I decided to relay this information. On previous occasions I had learnt of Poseur Ex's indiscretions, and had wanted to warn Nooma - but I could never do so. This is partly because Poseur Ex could have easily rebuffed anything that would have come from me by claiming that I was being duplicitous and trying to get into Nooma's pants. But it is mostly because it is not my place to meddle with other people's relationships, regardless of any vested interest I might have. Ironically, despite Poseur Ex hating my guts and no doubt thinking that I was sneakily trying to get with his womma, I was probably a far better friend to him than he realises. I suspect I have helped to extend his relationship's shelf-life, through being bound by a sense that passing on any information simply wasn't cricket. I also figured that Nooma is big and ugly enough to make her own mistakes, and would probably get The Realisation at some point. Which, thankfully, she did. Eventually.

But now it's no longer a matter of meddling in people's affairs. More a matter of alerting a friend as to someone's bullshit. Poseur Ex has now treated two of my friends badly in relationships (those with exceptional memories may recall that he used to go out with Blonde Curly Physio before Nooma), and not really appreciated them while he was with them. They are both bright, hilarious and the best company you could wish for. My theory is - however - that they fulfilled the criteria of being blonde, attractive surf-chicks. Accessories, if you like. Poseur Ex is all about making Poseur Ex look good, after all.

And what kind of a slug tries to guilt an ex into going back out with him? Sheesh!

As luck would have it, Nooma has been staunch. I guess the fact she's started seeing other (much nicer) chap has probably aided that. But at least what I've told her has helped to assuage her guilt. As for other indiscretions I kept under my hat, Nooma told me that she wished she'd known earlier, but understood why I felt I couldn't say. She went on to say that it's nice how Poseur Ex attempted to forbid her from seeing me while they were going out - but now she doesn't even speak to him anymore, yet we continue to be best friends. I agreed that this was the best possible outcome.

A little while later, Nooma told me that she loved me. Although she didn't mean it in *that* sense, I felt like I had been klunked with the Mallet of Joy. I don't recall her ever having said this before. To be loved by somebody so awesome even as a friend is a wonderful achievement, and I felt immeasurably proud. I was, of course, happy to echo the sentiment. And I meant it. Woo!

The other best moment of the evening came when the DJ put on 'The Heat Is On' by Glenn Frey (at my request), and Smiley (Ex) Surf-Shop Gal dragged me to the floor, and we danced and twirled like complete mooks. This was followed by some wonderful posturing during 'Gold!', and climaxed with a circle of people putting their arms around one another's shoulders and pogoing to 'Girl From Mars' whilst the bride danced in the centre. It was a perfect trio! I was too respectful to other dancefloor users to shake it any further, and retired afterwards to the bar.

The DJ played until the curfew, and then Nooma announced that she could play the piano, and managed to hammer out the first few bars of 'House Of The Rising Sun' before realising that she was drunk and actually couldn't play, but soldiered on anyway. A crowd of folk gathered round and sang songs like 'Walking In The Air', 'Gold!' (again) and 'Kumbaya', with Nooma occasionally hitting the right notes. Then we retired to the mini-bus escorting us back home, sang songs and passed around a bottle of vodka until the driver finally kicked us to the kerb outside The Ship Of Fools.

TBC...

...I've been up to over my weekend for a while.

I'd been invited to a wedding back at The Edge Of The World. I bumped into the bride-to-be on a night out a few weeks ago, and she asked me along to the reception. I thought this was just something you say whilst drunk - a bit of an afterthought - so I hadn't treated the invitation that seriously. However, it turned out she meant it. Now, she is a long-term friend of Nooma and Smiley Surf-Shop Gal - and Nooma did her best to try and talk me into going. I hadn't planned on it, as I have to save up money for this coming weekend (I'm going to see Public Enemy in The Ants' Nest, and then I've got a stag do to attend). Nooma pulled out all the stops in persuading me to go. A few factors caused me to buckle. One is that Smiley Surf-Shop Gal is getting married this coming weekend, and I cannot go - so I thought I ought put in an appearance at one wedding, at least. Also, my brother noted that it would be a good opportunity to get a "bunk up" with one of the guests. Plus, looking back on a missed opportunity to have ultramegaturbofun because I'd stayed at home 'saving money' is a decision I would no doubt later regret. So I made the right choice, and upped sticks.

On Friday night, I was dropped off at Surf-Film-Maker Chap's house, where he made me dinner. It was homemade burger on toast with beans...

Surf-Film-Maker Chap: I'm giving you the piece of toast without the mould on.
Lemonsquash: That's what's going to get you that fifth star!

...Then we went to the pub. My heart sank when I realised that the group we were about to join included Nooma's ex. Now, it's been pretty well documented that I can't stand Nooma's ex. What I have touched on less is that he really, really hates me. I learnt from Nooma recently that whilst they were going out, he attempted to forbid her from seeing me – even as a friend. We’ll come back to this. Anyway, it was pretty clear that both of us were doing our best to be civil to one another – but the ice was thin at best. Fortunately, we each managed to keep up the façade, transparent though it was. If things had degenerated, I imagine there would have been a short burst of abuse before I spat beer in his face. But they didn’t.

It was close. One of his initial remarks was that I was sporting more hair nowadays. He has gone bald, and as such had laid himself wide open. I think it was pretty obvious that I’d stumbled in my response, but had deliberately let him off. The conversation was awkward, but thankfully (also) thin on the ground, as Surf-Film-Maker Chap claimed him to talk to, and I instead nattered with an old housemate from The House Of Rock.

Interlude…

Someone: What’s that you're drinking?
Northerner: I call it 'Sacrilege'.
Someone else: What's in it?
Northerner: Red wine and Red Bull.
Everyone: SACRILEGE!

…So I wasn’t having the time of my life. Given the extreme awkwardness, I began to wonder why I’d bothered coming back. But it passed. I was staying with my old housemate, and he told me he had nothing to drink back at his flat, so I stacked them up when last orders came. On returning to his flat, it transpired that what he meant by ‘having nothing to drink’ in fact meant that he had a demijohn containing enough sloe gin to kill a kraken. Consequently, I would spend much of…

Saturday

…feeling like a buffalo had sex with my head.

As I’d been driven to The Edge Of The World by a good chum, I was reliant on transport for the whole weekend. I attempted to hitch-hike from one village to another, but only got so far before I had to walk for several miles up and down hills along a coast road in the rain. I finally got to Blond Curly Physio’s house. She packed up her newborn ginger bundle (Ella), and we went to a pub for lunch. She has taken well to motherhood, I think, despite being weirded out by children. Well, who wouldn’t be? Anyway, we went back to her house after a couple of pints, and baby*, Curly, Curly's dog and I all fell asleep listening to Def Leppard.

TBC…

 *Baby partook of no pints.

...not updated this blob for a while. I think it's fair to say that this neglect is universal. Even 20Sux themselves can't be bothered to translate the user menu fully from German. Gott ist indeed tot; with only the odd scavenger scuttling across to nip some decaying flesh from his bones.

However, I have known for a long time that I have trouble in wrapping things up. If I am to grow as a person, I need to develop the habit of finishing what I start.

And so begins the conclusion of this blog. Because just leaving a link to your latest blog is not really an ending, is it?

The trouble is, my life is presently conclusionless. I've moved to the city, I have a half-decent job that I enjoy in the main, I now live by myself… This is only really an ending if you get full-on wood for anticlimaxes. The blog was once upon a time focussed on my love-life (sic); but there's certainly no news there. I wanted to ask out a girl, but she ended up moving to South Korea a week later. I developed a crush on one of my neighbours. Turned out she was engaged to a marine. Now, I may be big, but I definitely don’t think I could take a marine. So I've pretty much decided to give up.

However, this blog isn't really about me, I've realised. A bunch of fun stuff has been charted, but I've rarely been the instigator. I was just there when it happened. This blog is really more about people that I’ve met. Some have been cunts, but most have been ace – otherwise I might not have taken such delight in writing about them.

And good things have indeed been happening to them. Blonde Curly Physio and the Friendly Fisherman moved in together some time ago, and he got a boat and went independent with his business. Blonde Curly Physio is expecting their first child in April, and they're getting married at The Edge of the World in September. Surf-Film-Maker Chap has bought a shop on the seafront, which did a roaring trade in its first summer of opening. Come next season, he will have expanded into doing trips on the water. As soon as it's a bit warmer, I’m going to head on over and try out his new jet-skis. Plus, he’s now got a rib that we can set up deckchairs on and fish from – a definite step up from the bath of blood. Woo!

As for Nooma, she went away to South America for what was initially going to be a few months, but ended up being a whole year – working for a foundation dealing with underprivileged children in Ecuador. The Heavy Petting Zoo weren’t too keen on the extension, and so she didn't have her job waiting when she came back. Which is just as well, as she hated it – but never seemed to summon the wherewithal to quit. I saw Nooma over the New Year period. Not only had she managed to shed her shit job, but also her shit boyfriend. I asked if she wanted to talk about it. She told me it was still a bit raw, and she’d rather not. I would hazard that – perhaps among other things – he probably didn't visit her during her year away. He hadn't come out for her previous birthday as he wanted to go out with other mates on the same evening; and if he couldn't be fucked to make the effort to go a couple of miles for her birthday, I’m guessing that going to the other side of the world was less likely. He had once told Surf-Film-Maker Chap in full earnest that he didn’t see why he had to make any effort to be romantic now that she was his – he'd already done his part. I’m glad that it's finally caught up with him.

I know that losing your job and your boyfriend is not commonly considered to that positive; but I think it's for the best, as both were way, way beneath her. Now she’s moved to The Ants' Nest for a fresh start. It might have been nice if we’d ended up together, but quite honestly, it is enough that she is no longer with someone utterly undeserving. I just hope that the next contender realises what it is that he’s got.

Another encounter I had on New Year's Eve was with Big-Eyed Irish Cutie. Anyone remember her? I was led something of a merry dance by her some time ago, until I decided to man up and let go. I hadn't spoken to her in a very long time, and as she started approaching me, I thought to myself 'Oh god… What the fuck does she want? Because honestly, I can’t be bothered'. And – beyond all expectations – she apologised for what she'd been like back then. At the time, she'd been going through some issues, and expressed regret that she hadn't treated me better, and that she loved talking to me and missed being in touch. I accepted her apology. She was now much happier, thrilled with her job, and had moved into a really nice cottage with her boyfriend. I met him too, and he seemed like a thoroughly swell chap. We promised each other that we’d remain friends, and stay in touch. I doubt the latter will come to pass, but parting as friends was good for the soul. I was really pleased that she seemed so happy (albeit that she was also so drunk). Although I didn't feel quite comfortable enough with our newfound accord to ask for my DVDs back.

I watched 'Scenes of a Sexual Nature' a couple of nights ago. That's two pound fifty and a couple of hours I'll never get back. For all the ensemble cast and interwoven scenarios, the makers couldn't be arsed to throw in one happy ending. On the contrary, a couple of completely unbelievable down endings were cack-handedly lobbed in at the end of storylines, seemingly to prevent the viewer from concluding anything other than that happiness is merely transitory.

But do you know wot? I actually like happy endings. I don't see that they're anything to be afraid of.

And with that in mind...

TBC.

...neglecting this blog. I am a shit blog daddy! Well, as I've mentioned on here before, I have mostly moved to a blog on Vox. And it is this :

subideal.vox.com

Recently, I have posted my (non-definitive, and wholly unsatisfying) list of top twenty favouritest songs. So harkit! This is just one of many advantages of Vox over 20Sux: you can post streaming mp3s in your entries; and - for no discernable reason - no-one seems to give a yellow rubbery fuck about copyright infringement. Or so it seems at least.

The main disadvantage of Pox is that folk who aren't signed up as members can't comment. This is a shame, as I am rather fond of getting unexpected comments from kittenfuckers after I'm disparaging about their home town. I crave the abuse.

So, just to keep things ticking over on this spam-addled sickburp of a platform, here's my most recent entry wot I've just cut-and-pasted straight from Vox :

Some queries from the last few days, and also one unrelated solution :

Queries

• What possessed someone to write 'Smurfs are the kings of toytown' on a toilet roll dispenser in a motorway services gents?
• A student in an Oxford branch of Tesco eyes up two DVDs priced at £2.74 apiece. Now, which of 'The Karate Kid' and 'xXx' do you think will be regarded as more 'ironic' in the eyes of his peers?
• An article from The Sun is drawn to my brother's attention. It claims that Charlotte Church and Gavin Henson are thinking twice about their wedding venue, since it has been brought to their attention that it is a known dogging spot. It is - in fact - the same venue in which my brother was married last year. Whilst discussing this with his parents, it transpires that our mother already knew it was a dogging spot, before my brother was married even. Which begs the question - exactly how did my mother know this?
• Why did that chap in the 'zany' orange jester's hat push some stranger into the river outside a bustling pub? I think the answer was touched on as the poor drenched soul climbed out of the water, shouting "What fucking cunt did that?"
• A further query, relating to the one immediately above : In the heated debate that followed, the culprit protested "It could have been worse". Now, I don't think I'd take overly kindly to being waterlogged, embarrassed in front of dozens of people, having possessions (including my mobile phone) ruined, and exposed to the risk of Weil's disease at the hands of some pissed-up bottom-feeder. So, I have to ask, what did this chap and his slightly skewed sense of social responsibility have in mind exactly? How could it have been worse? Well, the river was not comprised of hydrochloric acid, nor indeed lava, I suppose. So really, in the face of this irrefutable line of reasoning, I think that the victim should have shown more grace, and allowed the man in the 'crazy' hat unfettered carnal access to his girlfriend.

Solution

• If I spend all afternoon with my port side facing the sun, it will balance out my current two-tone colouring.
  

...my grandfather's 80th birthday. This meant that the family all descended on Chez Walrus for the weekend, and we had a silver wave of pensioners laying siege to the house on the Sunday. Fun! Stressful! Strange! Blog Gold!

There were far too many skill bits and ace quotes to hope to list here, but I'll flag up some of the highlights :

• Lemonbrother's wife's party trick is being delightfully inappropriate. In fact, she was responsible for stealing the show for much of the weekend. The family (including grandfather) all ate Chinese takeaway in front of the box on Saturday night. Whilst discussing some friends getting married, she interjected "Did you analyse this much when we were getting married ? I hope not. I bet you all thought 'God, I can't believe he's marrying that foul-mouthed whore!'"
• We had the music channels on in the background. I put on the top ten of '100 Greatest Love Songs' for a bit, as I figured that my grandfather would find this the most anodyne and least offensive. When I tried to change the channel, I found myself hoist with my own petard, as my family were now taking bets as to what songs would top the list. As it was quite a cheesey channel, someone opted for 'I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)' by Meatloaf. "It never says what the 'That' is, does it ?" asked my sister. "I'll just say it's something to do with the bottom," replied Lemonbrotherwife - adding "I said it like that because your grandfather's here." I like her idea of toning down.
• After he left, we switched to Kerrang!, which was showing an A-Z of punk. This showed promise, until we realised that each letter was used as a tenuous excuse to play Green Day and Blink 182 videos ad nauseam. For example, for H, they had Mark Hoppus from Blink 182. "They could have had Hüsker Dü," said I. "Yeah, but no-one really likes them," baited Lemonbrother. "What do you reckon K will be ?" "Kevin ?" "Yes - Kevin from Green Day."
• The video for 'White Wedding' by Billy Idol featured later (strangely not under W). Lemonbrotherwife : "His skin is whiter than his teeth." Lemonbrother : "That's because he's an albino. He likes beans."
• The Sunday was spent dealing with a thousand seniors. My family and I were - for all intents and purposes - staff. I even heard my grandfather introduce my brother to someone thus : "This is the fellow that will be getting your drinks." I'm not sure if that is a demotion or promotion from 'grandson'.
• One set of old puffins declined some chicken rolls on the grounds of "bird flu".
• My brother's wife was telling the story of sliding my brother's new car into a hedge (see last entry) to some seniors. Lots of eyebrows were raised when she said "There was nothing I could do. The car just skidded, and I went into some woman's bush".

There was plenty more, but I'm thinking about having a nap. Night x

...haven't yet been entirely successful in extricating myself from The Edge Of The World, and replanting myself in The City, the same is true of my doings in the blogosphere. My migration to Vox has been hampered slightly by a certain amount of influential shirt-tugging. I'm not sure if this is life imitating art, or - to use proper intermcweb vernacular - blart imitating IRL. Here's a snippet of a conversation I had yesterday :

Busty Farm Girl : Why aren't you blogging ?
Lemonsquash : I am!
Busty Farm Girl : You've hardly put anything up recently.
Lemonsquash : Have you checked the other blog ?
Busty Farm Girl : No. It's shit. I like *this* blog.

This is because Busty Farm Girl likes reading about herself, and revels in the praise that she occasionally receives in the comments (I've said it before - please don't encourage her).

Anyway, just so it seems like this blog is ticking over, here's an email I received from Lemonbrother this morning :

> Arse.
>
> My wife crashed into a hedge this morning after she'd said "I passed
> my test in the snow, of course I am OK driving".
>
>
>
>
> Ha!

It would seem that it snowed, then.

...happened recently :

• Myself and Blonde Curly Physio were invited to a 'Pub Quiz' evening at The Odd Couple's house. A friend phoned shortly before we went, and I told her I was afraid that I was likely to be obnoxious, as I was already a little soused. "I shouldn't worry. People are used to that - it's your party piece," came her response. Blonde Curly Physio, despite claiming that the best way to get through the evening was to be mischievous, was her usual charming self; so it was entirely up to me to misbehave terribly in front of a room of straight-laced teachers. I sincerely doubt I'll ever be invited back.
• Myself and The Friendly Fisherman (Blonde Curly Physio's boyfriend) decided that the best fancy dress costume in the world would be the milk carton from Blur's 'Coffee and TV' video. However, neither eBay nor Google furnished us with a ready to buy one; so I guess I'm gonna have to make one. Wot would be your ideal fancy dress costume ?
• I've been smurfing quite a bit. Yesterday, I was riding a wave in and thinking to myself 'Yay! Surfing is fun!' (I am comfortable with not being in the least bit cool), when I was met by a rebounded wave (or clapotis) coming in the other direction. The effect of this was to send me flying arse over moob. To wit, I was clapottled.
• I asked a girl out on a date. She blew me out. Boo!
• I watched 'Little Miss Sunshine'. Yay!
• I may finally move out of my folks' on the ninth of Feb. Überw00t!

There's probably more, but I'm off to make some porridge.

...drag this blog back down to the level where it belongs.

Dictionary.com's Word Of The Day today is 'foofaraw'. Now, it doesn't mean anything like wot I expected.

...writing about leaving The Edge Of The World. I'm not entirely sure why this is. Maybe it's because the last time I displaced, it was a bit more dramatic. This latest move seems wholly anticlimactic. Plus, I'm not relocating as far. You don't really say goodbye to friends that you're only moving a couple of hours away from.

Or possibly I'm unwilling to fully accept that I've moved to yet another place for a significant period of my life, and that things simply haven't worked out. I had the closest thing to an ideal job for a while, but it couldn't be sustained. I didn't find love. Or, arguably, I did - just with the wrong person. I am leaving no richer, no more fulfilled - just a little older and slower.

Perhaps I am being harsh. I have made some great friends. I have learned to fish. I have spent a whole lot of time doing nothing in a place that is pretty sleepy and stress-free. I have slipped into a comfort zone. At times, it was almost like having some of my eventual retirement on loan.

On the last weekend of officially living at The Edge Of The World, I got back very late one night. It was wild outside, and the windows in our living room had blown wide open in the wind. I decided to join the seafront for a constitutional nightcap. It was five in the morning, the waves were thrashing against the sea wall, and the throb of the sea was illuminated by an almost full moon. It was eerie and enchanting. Rocks and water were being hurled across the orange road at certain points. It was putting on a show, seemingly all for me.

At high tide, you occasionally observe a phenomenon where waves rebound, causing a backwash. So you get waves going both in and out. Some of these rebounding waves slip away under the radar without incident. Some of them collide with incoming waves, causing water to jet into the air. Some such collisions that evening were causing splashes that must have leapt up a good twenty-five foot. A friend of mine told me that this effect is called a clypotis; although I have uncovered no evidence that this is in fact so. However, I would like it to be.

I have tried to slip away unnoticed to a certain degree. But a decent amount of folk have fondly teased me that I will never get away from The Edge Of The World. I get a feeling they don't want me to. I even got a hug from a woman working in the local Londis. It feels like I am missed. Which is consolation, I guess. Although things haven't concluded in the way I might have hoped, at least sometimes in our comings and goings we collide spectacularly for fleeting moments, before breaking apart and subsiding anonymously once more into the sea.

...a selection of moments from the weekend :

• On Saturday, I hauled ass to my home town to go to a cancer benefit gig in what used to be my first ever local (it has since become an O'Neill's). Despite the sombre undertone of the gig, myself and pals spent the afternoon weak with laughter. Always a sign of a good time. Although the compere managed to rub several of the punters up the wrong way when he singled out smokers in his introductory 'serious speech'. "If you want to get pious about smokers, don't host your gig in a pub - host it in a fucking church hall," declared Busty Farm Girl, just before sparking up in protest.
• We retired to a buddy's house, where things degenerated. One chum said something extemely sacreligious, and spilt his red wine over himself immediately afterwards. "I'm man enough to know when I've been smote by The Lord," quoth he.
• I woke up with a load of seeds having mysteriously found their way into my hair. "Good thing I just checked my shoes," said the host; "They're full of grapes."
• When discussing the elder generation's use of the word 'nigger' as a descriptive term (someone's mother had described an object as "nigger brown", and defended her use by saying that - in this particular instance - it had no racial overtones), a good friend of mine said "It used to be commonplace for 'Nigger' to be used as a pet name. For example, Douglas Bader had a dog called Nigger. And they had to censor it from that film. You know the one. It was called... Er... Not 'I Don't Have Any Of My Legs Anymore'..."

All in all, a turboskill weekend. Today, however, I will be mostly shaking slightly, and staying out of trouble.

...Busty Farm Girl :

Lemonsquash : I am watching King Kong after a heavy weekend. It is certain that I will cry like a sissy girl x

Busty Farm Girl : The monkey dies x

Wot was the last film that made you blub ?

...the spirit vacuum of job hunting :

• Make an 'Out Of Order' cover for your grandfather's doorbell out of an inversed printer cartridge box.
• Print out low GI recipes for your parents.
• Learn how to play 'You Could Be Mine' by Guns N' Roses on the geetar.
• Decorate your new blog on Vox.
• Reorder your temporary room.
• Put a bunch of stuff in the loft. Search the loft. Take even more useless crap back out.
• Decide that taking a photo representing of all of the above and posting them will be Blog Gold.
• Search for the USB cable for your camera for half an hour, knowing full well you aren't going to find it.
• Curse the fact that the blog entry is CONSIDERABLY LESS INTERESTING without photos. Realise you have created not Blog Gold, but Blog Lead. You are The AntiAlchemist.
• Consider going back to bed. 

...attention by a good chum, look at this :

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/6244153.stm

She also requested Smiths/Morrissey-based potential headlines. So far we have :

• The Integrity Is Dead
• Frankly Mr Wogan
• Smiths Fans In A Coma
• There Is A Light That Never Comes On
• Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Voted For Me

Any thoughts ?