...an evening, and we make Lego.

Lemonbrother : Look - I've made a spaceship! What have you made ?
Lemonsquash : I've made a house in suburbia...

Lemonbrother [attempting to disguise deep unimpressedness] : Oh... great.
Lemonsquash : Ah... But 'tis no ordinary house in suburbia.
Lemonbrother : Oh ?
Lemonsquash : Indeed not. Look inside.

Lemonsquash : The owner of the house picks up truckers from a local diner, takes them back to his house, and tortures and kills them!
Lemonbrother : Ok... Why is there a treasure chest in the house ?
Lemonsquash : Look inside!
[Lemonbrother opens the chest]
Lemonbrother : Ah. I see.
[Lemonbrother makes mental note to distance himself from the middle sibling in future]

...weekend, which I cannot really hope to adequately summarise here. But I shall let you in on some snippets :

- If you are forwarded a link to a YouTube video featuring a couple of atonal tools karaoke-ing to 'You Give Love A Bad Name' and/or 'Rock You Like A Hurricane' by The Scorpions, whilst also playing air guitar enthusiastically yet spasmodically, that is probably Bub and I.

- I have never seen a livid woman run her arm along a table in order to dramatically cast all of the bottles and glasses atop to the floor before. This happened in a kitchen at a party. Incredibly, nothing seemed to smash.

- I was due to stay with my chum Bandy on Friday night. I turned up at his house admittedly rather late, and everyone had gone to bed. Hammer as I might on the door, no-one was in any danger of getting up to let me in. I took one last wistful look through the living room window at the bed made up for me in there, complete with half a bottle of champagne by its side, and went to sleep in the back of my car. Incidentally, Mr Bandy - just because I have accepted your apology, doesn't mean I forfeit the right to tell everyone about it.

- We all attended a poncey black tie dinner on Saturday evening. My end of the table were warned politely not to squirt liquid at other diners from a toy fish. However, The Fish Of Justice will not be so readily silenced.

- Bub, whilst drunkenly talking to his girlfriend on the phone, fell out of the tree he had climbed. And then came off his bike on the ride back home. Although Bub is comparatively unbreakable, hired dinner jacket suits are not.

The weekend also featured epic traffic jams, monkey sounds, a canister of nitrous oxide and a balloon, a man with a very large head, another man with a very small head, and narrow misses with both Sparklehorse and a frightening predatoress. But I'll leave all that to your imagination.

...just returned from France, and bought me this :

It has a robust peachy flavour, and goes well with rump steak, I shouldn't wonder.

...I have just been naked in a blogger's flat. A female blogger, no less.

And how was it ? It was wet and invigorating.

...Solis this morning :

"Oooh... Rocks are hard, aren't they ?"

I implore you to meet other bloggers. It expands your mind.

...snooping around Solis's flat, part one - The Karaokesaurus :

Plus, a moment I will take with me to my grave : Solis, Mama Solis, Heather and Lemonsquash, in a Chinese restaurant, order some shots of lethal fortified sake. The girls order rose-petal flavoured (or "rose petrol" ), and I order the one which has a massive lizard coiled up in the bottle. I look down into my shot glass, and see a nudie lady at the base. The girls all look down, and each see a young gentleman in the nip at the bottom of theirs. They swap their glasses with one another, in order to compare penii.

*Sigh*. Being back in Britain is sucky and grey.

...the ' One Day In History ' project :

Today is wet and colourless. I fear the leaky kitchen roof may cave in. I need to tidy my room. The rudimentary plans I've made for the day have fallen by the wayside. So I did not have lunch and go for a clifftop walk with a girl who, until very recently, I've had a bit of a soft spot for. Nor am I going for a game of squash at five. It is a nothing day. And - as such - the perfect day on which to take a snapshot.

I spend a lot of nothing days hanging out and talking rubbish with Surf-Film-Maker Chap. We get dosed up on caffeine, analyse our present situations, and detail plans that will never be seen to fruition ("Tomorrow, let's become captains of industry!" ). SFMC's present situation usually runs along the lines of 'My girlfriend is grilling my aggots because I've spent too much time recently surfing/seeing friends/carousing; and not enough time showering her with attention/eliminating third-world debt/washing-up'. My present situation usually goes something like 'How can I inverse my polarity in order to attract women/money/happiness in general ?'. Our situations today are typical.

Today, he’s working in the surf shop in the village. So I pick up some croissants from the Londis around the corner, he puts the kettle on, and we proceed to decorate the counter with flakes of puff pastry.

Lemonsquash : For some reason, I have 'For The Longest Time' by Billy Joel in my head today.
SFMC : That’s a worry.
Lemonsquash : Yup. SquashFM is a scary station. [sings] Wooah oh-oh-oooah, For the longest time…
SFMC : Stop fucking singing that.

It is clear that we will achieve nothing today.

He asks if he can come to my house in order to microwave his lunch. So we hop into his van.

Lemonsquash : What are you having ?
SFMC : A plate of some shit or other.
Lemonsquash : Sounds delicious.
[I lift the foil-covered Tupperware container to my face]
Lemonsquash : Mmmm… That sweet feculent whiff.
SFMC : Feculent ?
Lemonsquash : Yes.
SFMC : What does that mean ?
Lemonsquash : As in faeces. Shit.
SFMC : Feculence. I like that word.
Lemonsquash : There’s no shame in being a word nerd. Words are sexy.
SFMC : But I get more sex than you.
[I feel my brow furrow]

I am planning to move away pretty soon, and I’ll miss days like this. The shop has next to no customers, so the conditions are optimal for indulging in the type of poppycock that – given the right chemistry – you can keep up ad infinitum.

Lemonsquash : Somebody recommended honey rum to me recently. That sounds nice.
SFMC : Yeah, it does.
Lemonsquash : They also recommended licorice ice-cream. That sounds turbolush.
SFMC : Ur, no. I can’t stand licorice.
Lemonsquash : Really ?
SFMC : Yuck. Sperm.
Lemonsquash : Possibly harsh. But you’re entitled to not like it.

Some days you leap out of bed, and know that you can wrestle the world to the floor, and give it The People’s Elbow for good measure. Slightly hungover Tuesdays shrouded in lacklustre sky are not those days. They are days on which to keep the kettle going.

...appointments day in the main national newspaper. So I've been right down to the local shop to grab a copy, and since analysing those pages studiously with a biro, right ?

Wrong.

I have been teaching myself how to play 'Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love' by Van Halen on the gee-tar. I am slowly but surely slipping down the spiral which sports Gainful Employment at its zenith, and Hard Rock Hades at its nadir.

...lost cause - the pursuit of Heart-Stopping (potential) Lesbian. She came along to the quiz on Monday, and I actually had the gumption this time to introduce myself to her properly. She was very smiley and accommodating. In fact, she was quite gushingly complimentary.

HS(p)L : Do you do this every week ? As you weren't here last week.
Lemonsquash : Every week until I move away, in all likelihood.
HS(p)L : It's not worth it if you're not doing it.
Lemonsquash : Really ? That's very kind. But there will be other quizmasters after I'm gone. They'll be just as good, I'm sure.
HS(p)L : They won't be. You're easily the best one around. No-one's as good, friendly or nice as you are.
Lemonsquash : Oh my. I think I'm going blush.

I probably should have kept the last sentence confined to inner monologue. Hey ho.

The next step in this entirely pointless quest is to ascertain whether or not the girl she usually comes to the quiz with is, in fact, her lesbian lover. I spoke with Busty Farm Girl on the phone, and she had a few suggestions. Including :
Busty Farm Girl : She has a lip-ring, right ?
Lemonsquash : She does.
Busty Farm Girl : Well, you could say "I notice you have a lip-ring". She will say "Yes, I do". Then you can say "Do you find it aids cunnilingus ?" That's sure to work.

I think I might just adopt the more traditional approach of asking her friends about her.

...The Lemonheads on Saturday in Brizzle. Larks were had. I'd gone along with the Sweet Ecologist and some of her pals, and met up with Busty Farm Girl and some other buddies from school when we got there. A while after the gig, I was faced with a choice. My school buddies embarked on their journey home, and I could either (a) get a taxi, and meet the ex and her pals in some bar a few miles away; (b) go out in the town centre by myself; or (c) call it a day, and go to bed. I was, after all, a wee bit tiddly by this point.

I decided to go to the nearest bar and get me a pint, to aid with the decision-making process. The bar was called 'The Pineapple'. I went in, and instantly noticed several men canoodling with other men, and women canoodling with other women. 'Hmmm,' I pondered - 'I think I know wot type of bar this is'. I ordered a pint, and whilst waiting for it, drunkenly dropped my phone. Just after I'd bent over to pick it up, it occurred to me that marching into a gay bar by myself - and presenting within a minute of being there - was probably giving off quite a strong signal. It's no wonder some chap at the bar kept giving me the eye (in a manner of speaking).

I told Surf-Film-Maker Chap about this the following day :
SFMC : Well, you definitely have a look that gay men would go for.
Lemonsquash : Oh really ?
SFMC : Yes, you're a bear.
Lemonsquash : ...

...number 100 to number 10 in the 'Most Popular' blogs. Woosh! Like a weasel up a trouser leg.

Now, obviously I do not take these types of chart seriously. But there is one thing that we can conclude from this result in particular. Which is that I rule, and you suck! I am Godzilla, and you are Japan! You shall bow quaking in the wake of my majesty! Etc!

A proper post soon, I promise*.

*Not a promise.

...happened in the last few days :

- I took the quiz on Monday, and the wife stabber I mentioned a few weeks ago turned up again, with a group of mates - all of whom were fucksticks. They turned up too late to take part, but that didn't stop them from shouting out answers or 'hilarious' rejoinders to my questions. After one correct answer being broadcast to everyone present at The Ship Of Fools, I asked the megaphone in question not to shout out answers; and pointed out that - although there was no penalty as such for doing so - everyone in the pub would think that he was a twat. I fully expect to be beaten up next week.

- I have started going to a rival quiz in the village on Tuesday evenings. A valuable lesson I learnt from my quizmaster nemesis last night is that one should never have an anagrams round. Anagrams are, for the best part, boring and irritating. When the next team marked our paper, this is wot they got :

1. FCUK AGRANAMS
2. UFCK GRANMAAS
3. KCUF SMARGANA
4. CUFK RAGAMANS
5. FKCU NAGASRAM
6. TAWT
7. CNUT
8. WNAK
9. STOS
10. SIPS

You may be surprised to learn that we didn't win.

- Surf-Film-Maker Chap and his girlfriend are going to the rescue shelter today to pick a dog. I reminded him that some friends of ours have just had nine labrador puppies (or rather, their dog has) :
SFMC : I'd forgotten about that. I'll keep it in mind, but I kinda want Jihad to be a mongrel.
Lemonsquash : !

- I am getting a cold. Boo! So today is hot drinks and soup all the way.

That's all for now.

...time again. This weekend we appear to be having a premature Hallowe'en. And I have to choose between one of two parties. One is in a pub in the village, will feature lots of usual suspects, is guaranteed to be fun, and is within walking distance of my bed at the close of the evening. The other is in a town fifteen miles away, and will only feature about three people I know. There will, however, be a band, new people (including the outside possibility of new women), and a HELIUM MACHINE. Although this is in the 'stuff undecided on' category, I feel that there really is no contest.

And I shall be wearing my new mask, here seen modelled by a character which I promise has nothing to do with the notoriously litigious Disney corporation :

Eeeek! Let the frightening commence!

...weekend, have we not ? Surely a cue for a weekend round-up :

- I decided to blow out the party in the village for one in the second town in the county. I popped into the former for one drink prior to leaving, however; and began to regret my choice. The pub owners had gone to a lot of effort. The place was bedecked in lanterns and cobwebs and blackened walls. They were planning to show grizzly films such as 'Resident Evil' on mute on their big screen. And there was a horror-themed disco; playing music like Evanescence and... erm... the theme from 'Baywatch'. It seemed like larks were about to occur.

- I had been swayed in no small part by the fact that the girl whose party it was wanted to set me up with one of her friends. She described her to me as having "a lovely smile, big boobs, and alternative looking" - ie perfect sounding. The girl wasn't there. She had moved to Leeds the day before. Her best mate looked me up and down, and said "Yeah, she would have *loved* you". Way to rub it in. And the helium machine was conspicuous by its absence as well.

- I'd never been out in the second town in the county in the two and a half years of living here. I'd always assumed it was a complete shitehole. Which isn't entirely untrue. But it's a fun shitehole, I have since discovered. We went to a pub which reminded me of the local I used to frequent when I was in my mid-teens - full of alternatives, moshers and under-agers. The glut of lank-haired adolescents who couldn't handle their booze reminded me of myself half a lifetime ago. There was one guy who was sat in the cubicle in the gents, trousers about ankles, hirstute head shaking ruefully in his hands. He was in there confronting his demons for at least half an hour. I popped my head through the door at one point to ask if he was ok, and did he want a glass of water ? He spurned my offer in a drunken grunt; a crafty bollock winking at me. I recalled this episode to Surf-Film-Maker Chap yesterday, who identified the inherent dodginess of being in a pub toilet cubicle with a semi-naked teenage boy. Last time I try and do the Samaritan thing.

- I almost didn't manage to peel myself out of bed to go for a smurf at midday yesterday. But somehow I did. And I'm glad. It was super-cruisey longboardmungous. Dude.

- Ever tried a 'Sloegasm' ? Sloe gin with cava ? Ultralush.

That's enough for the time being, I feel.

...that he is being misrepresented on this blog. I asked him how he figured. He told me that it painted him as being quite fruity. I contested this, and asked for evidence - which he has yet to provide. But he did make some suggestions as to how to tweak my writing to cast him in a more manly light :

Surf-Film-Maker Chap : When I say something, you can add 'he said in a gruff tone'.
Lemonsquash : You think that'll help ?
SFMC : Yes. And say that I'm wearing a hat.
Lemonsquash : What kind of hat ?
SFMC : Erm... A leather one.
Lemonsquash : You're right. If you're wearing a leather hat and speaking in a gruff tone, no-one will mistake you for being gay.