...a peculiar and eventful one. I will start by telling you the problems I am having with my house'mate'. The primary problem is that he is a twat. In the house in which we live, only my name is on the lease, and I am solely responsible for rent and bills. This isn't normally a problem, as everyone I've lived with has been good about stumping up. Not this chap. After his deposit got subsumed, he told me he'd pay me soon. Two weeks after his rent was due, I approached him, and he told me he would give it to me on his pay day, at the end of the month. This meant that I effectively had to lend him hundreds of pounds, which I cannot afford.
His pay day came, and he did not show up at the house. He showed up last night, with his girlfriend and her two young children. I interpreted the presence of the children as a shield against me getting lively with him. He was also moving lots of stuff out of his room. I asked him politely about the 'R' word. He told me he was busy, and would speak to me about it on Monday. I told him I wasn't very about this state of affairs. This was diplomatic to say the least, as I am fucking livid with him. I had to go to cover a gig for work, so I asked another housemate (he of the wee) to ensure that The Fucknut didn't move out entirely.
To give you an extra bit of background on The Fucknut, here is a photo of the only decoration he has adorning the wall of his room :
The glaring omission from the title is 'Keep Believing In Yourself, Unless You Are A Thief And A Cunt'. I think even owning a calendar of 'inspirational' poetry speaks volumes about a person.
So I drove off to this gig in a bit of a fume. Things improved dramatically when the exhaust pipe of my car fell off, taking most of the back bumper with it. I had to stop a policeman on a motorbike, who helped me wrench it off (no sniggering, please). He did, however, inform me that there were lots of hot girls milling around outside the gig venue. This proved to be true. When I got to the gig, I proceeded to rip my shorts. Literally. And before you think, no - not at the front.
The evening slumped deeper still when a doorman who I knew told me that I had recently missed not one, but *two* cider festivals. Satan's knob!
At the gig, I saw the lovely Julia Harris. Here is a photo of her, as an antidote to the inspirational poetry calendar :
I love her an enormous amount. As I imagine does her husband, who I only learned about recently. Boo!
This all sounds like a bit of a tale of doom and gloom. But it isn't really. I met lovely Julia's husband, and he was very nice! I like it when good people are paired with good people. Plus Julia told me that she loved the last review I wrote for her, and gave me two badges. And all the music was mega-ace. So, despite a shaky start, the evening was a capital affair.
Now all I have to do is pull The Fucknut's brain out through his nostrils, and equilibrium will be restored.
