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stuff that's true
So last night was
...the last quiz I presented at The Ship Of Fools. It was busy, and fun. I awarded extra points to teams with the names 'We love [Lemonsquash]' and 'Sleeping with her was like opening the patio windows and fucking the horizon'. There was a music round with the opening threads of such classics as 'Highway To The Danger Zone' by Kenny Loggins. There was an überindulgent multiple-choice round on yours truly. Lots of people bought me cider. There were japes and larks. One team won the £99 jackpot. And I got a big round of applause as it finished, which made me blush.
At the end of the evening, numerous people shook my hand, and either asked if I planned to return to this edge of the world at some point, or otherwise bid me a good life.
Things are wrapping up.
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And whilst we're on the subject
...of quizzes, the wolf-criers from last week returned to the quiz on Monday. I tend to go round the teams to ask if they want any questions repeated before swapping papers for marking. One of the young ladies from the team of six asked for a question about EasyEverything repeated. Lemonsquash : 'EasyEverything is the world's biggest what ?'
Young Lady : Can we have a clue ?
Lemonsquash : 'Fraid not.
Young 'Lady' : Go on... If you give us a clue, I'll give you a blow-job. The rest of her team seemed even more aghast than me. Sans shame! A short while later, I passed a bloke member of her team going to the gents. I bid him "Hello," and all I got in return was a Bash Street Kids-style dagger stare. Guessing that's her chap, then. Not my fault your girlfriend's a slut, old chum.
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I am living
...out of a suitcase for a month or so. At the moment I'm with my parents in deepest Welsh Wales. I went out with The Walrus to a pub quiz yesterday evening. It was entirely unlike my quiz. It was a league match, the questions were answered verbally, and I was the youngest participant by a good decade. We picked up a chap from our team on the way, who proceed to reel off a list of folk who had transcended the departure lounge in the last week. It's a different world. After a very narrow away defeat, we went back to our home pub for last orders. I was forced to bite my tongue as a couple of corpulent locals vomited some bilious tabloid opinions like they were their own. We had a tirade concerning foreigners being forced to adopt our customs, which stemmed from "And now they're going to ban tinsel, because Christmas decorations offend the muslims and whatnot. It's ridiculous!" So they're going to ban tinsel are they ? In the same way that those filthy slug-eating shitsticks on the continent took away our Prawn Cocktail crisps ? The cunts! But hats off to the tabloids for achieving almost total proliferation of their insidious xenophobic hatemessage. If I got to send anything to Room 101, I know what I'd put in first. Now that I've got that off my chest, I have enough breathing space to tell you that, other than that, I had a very pleasant and jolly evening. Hooray!
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Saturday was
...spent mainly drifting in and out of consciousness. Then I went to The Rag Christmas party. I perked up due to (a) an office turbohottie sitting next to me, and (b) cider. Sadly I had to sit out the passing of a sack around for Secret Santa, as no fucker had told me we were doing it. Humbug! What was quite good fun was writing down three little-known facts about ourselves, having them all read out, and guessing whose belonged to whom. I wrote the following :
1. A recurring nightmare I used to have.
2. My porn name is Spitz Williams.
3. I once had a set of handcuffs confiscated at Dublin airport.
I was told by one of the reporters that she had guessed me for no less than four of her answers (there were about fifteen of us); which led me to believe that people must take me for some kind of degenerate. One of the people's facts was 'When I was being potty trained, whenever my mother went to answer the door or the phone, I would eat my own excrement'. I do hope no-one chose me for that one. The evening ended with a jaunt into town, where we got everyone to dance individually (based on the hypothesis that people have sex in a similar fashion to the way they boogie), got more drunk, saw a fight, got drenched in a deluge whilst waiting for a taxi, and had a kebab. Go archetypal Saturday night!
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So, this moustache
...party. It was whiskerrific. There's nothing quite like carousing at a local hostelry with a handful of glamourous fillies and chaps shamelessly sporting fine bushy 'taches, what what. We retired to The House Of Rock for the latter part of the evening. It was the last chance to wreck the place before throwing myself at the mercy of my (now ex) landlord. Smiley Surf Shop Gal wrote her name in Marmite on the kitchen ceiling. Using her nose. This was no mean feat, as she is by no means a tall girl. Then, later in the evening still, we fought. An inflated airbed was used to smother the opposition, and pile ons ensued. I battled on the same side as Nooma, which was a smart move, as she is not afraid of fighting dirty. At one point, she unpotted a couple of my plants, and dropped them clod-first onto her opponent's head. Übermess! At four in the morning, Nooma felt compelled to sit on me and cuddle me a lot. This pleased me. Partly because her boyfriend hates my guts, and would have *hated* that this was happening. But mostly because she was warm and cosy. Mmmm. I should leave more often. Separately and unrelatedly, I am trying to find the right term of endearment. I may have asked this before, but please humour me. If you were a girl, and a boy was going to call you something that made you feel a bit wiggly, wot would you want to be called ?
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In preparation for
...tonight's moustache party, I have just had a shave. It is a little bit shocking. I just did my chin and neck, so that the 'tache joins up with my sidies. I believe, according to my facial hair chart, that this look is known as 'Friendly Mutton Chops'. Well, if I wasn't a bear before, I certainly am now.
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I am growing a little
...doedicurus in an empty peanut butter jar. No, wait - that's not wot I'm doing. I am actually growing a little tired of packing my seemingly expanding life into boxes. The surf outside is firing. But I must press on. Which is obviously why you find me here. I have smelt the worst thing of all time today. It is mouldy paint. It will make you instantly vomit your own bone marrow. I am considering pulling out my finger nails to get the reek from beneath. Ak. Ak. What are you doing, you fuckers ?
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I have a vast
...amount to do this week. I should be packing and painting today; which makes the desire to spend all day blogging and going smurfing that much more prominent. I'll tell you a bit about my weekend - in point form - as is my wont : - I went to a chum's 30th birthday weekend. She'd hired out a converted barn up in the mountains, which slept 24 people. I only knew about five of those invited prior to the weekend, so I met lots of nice new people. w00t!
- After spending longer than I should rhapsodising to a new person about the merits of 'You're The Voice' by John Farnham, new person makes a trip to a bike shop the following morning. He returns, and says to me "You'll never guess what song was being played in the shop while I was there..." The Universe is trying to talk to us. It is saying some pretty peculiar things.
- Busty Farm Girl and I wandered into the small town nearby the following day with raging hangovers. A good selection of folk had brought mp3 players to the gathering - but no-one had brought speakers. Duh. So we went on a wild goose chase to find some cheap speakers, and didn't realise that there was some kind of carnival going on in the town until it swallowed us. There were men in drag on bikes wearing massive hats. There was a woman dressed up as a cat in a fez. We bumped into a TV weatherman signing books in WHSmith, who seemed to be a magnet for very Welshy teens squeaking "Ey, I seen yew on the teee-veee!" We went into a pub where the barmaid was still wearing her slippers. It was a 'no drugs required' afternoon and no mistake.
- We saw a book entitled 'Guns and Poses' outside a book shop, and wondered if the author had fashioned an entire career from dreaming up this terrible pun beforehand.
- The gathering in the evening was fancy dress, with the theme 'What the hell are you wearing ?' This is a fully skill idea for a theme, and brought about a good deal of invention. The show was stolen by the birthday girl, who showed up dressed as a pirate wearing a huge inflatable ship about her waist. Savvy ?
- As the evening degenerated, I quizzed a few people what type of non-human animal they would choose to have sex with if they had to. I asked an Aussie chap, who responded "It would have to be a crow," without any hesitation.
- Amongst my favourite quotes of the weekend was from Busty Farm Girl, who is on placement teaching biology in a secondary school. She was marking papers, and one of the questions was 'Why would an adolescent girl require more iron than an adolescent boy ?' One of the girls has answered 'Because she might be an emick'. Quoth she "Fucking little spastics. I can't believe I have to teach such stupid bastards". Busty Farm Girl will be shaping young minds in a school near you soon.
That's enough for now.
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I finally got round
...to watching 'Hostel' yesterday. Now, that was a good opportunity wasted, wasn't it ? Anyway, I watched it just before going to bed. Perhaps that's why I dreamt I was having my tongue cut out. Eww.
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Hmmm, this whole
...'three strikes' month is going atrociously. I was doing pretty well until this weekend; when I managed to fall off the wagon so spectacularly that I broke my arse-bone. Mind you, considering this is my last month here at The Edge Of The World, I guess it was inevitable. As was the hatching of a plan for a leaving party. It will be a job keeping my guests from desecrating my house any further, as everyone believes the house is going to be demolished after we move out. However, the landlord has recently stated that he might U-turn on this issue, and find more tenants before deploying the wrecking ball. Pop goes our deposit. But this is by the bye. The important thing is that we are having a party. It is going to be a moustache party. Anyone who shows up sans moustache has to pay a fine (most likely a forfeit), and also have one drawn on in permanent marker. This will be on December the first. Anyone wanna come ?
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I went to visit
...The Walrus yesterday, and he told me a lovely story. He was in a pub a few miles away from where he lives. This particular hostelry is decorated in quite an eccentric fashion. A woman with rather large coiffeured hair is sitting at a table. Above her is a fake branch. A small stuffed bird sits atop the branch. Or at least it did for a bit, before plummeting into her hair. She feels a sensation as it lands, and has a cursory feel of her hair, but finds nothing. Now, the stuffed bird has landed the right way round, and is nesting in her bouffant, looking perfectly forward. Her company are almost unable to talk, so weak are they with laughter. After a while, she twigs that everyone is laughing at her, and wonders why. Her husband tries to tell her, but is also rendered almost speechless. She manages to flip the stuffed bird out of her hair, which lands on the table. She shrieks. Our bouffanted heroine doesn't see the funny side, and implores her husband to go and complain to a member of staff. He is still uncomposed, but he sucks it up and takes the stuffed bird to the man working at the bar. "This sparrow fell into my wife's hair, and I really must complain," he says. "It's an awful thing to happen."
"No it isn't," says the barman.
"What do you mean, it isn't awful ?"
"No sir, it isn't a sparrow," he says; "it's a linnet." Everyone in the bar falls over.
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I heard something
...nice the other night. Surf-Film-Maker Chap's girlfriend is a junior school teacher. She is puzzled by the fact that an eight-year-old girl in her class had become obsessed by her boyfriend, despite having never met him. Indication one was on parents' evening, when the girl's mother asked her how SFMC was, and seemed to be on first name terms with him. Then when they went on a school trip last week, the girl asked if she kept any photos of him in her wallet. She does, and showed the girl - who snatched the photo, and started kissing it. She then announced that she was going to run away with SFMC, get married, and they would join a choir together. Although I love the thought of SFMC joining a choir, I don't think his lady has anything to worry about just yet.
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I had my first strike
...of the month on Saturday night. And verily, the most was made of it. The evening featured : - drinking cans of Strongbow whilst watching fireworks. It felt like being fifteen again.
- having the most rancid burger of all time from the van at the fireworks display. Bowk!
- getting bled dry by a quiz machine. Why the shitting fuck would I know when N*Stink had their first number one ?
- playing and winning a game of 301, despite the fact that my adversaries were both on 'double to win' before I'd even got off the starting blocks. I recommend grasping all three darts sharp-end first between your forefingers, and lobbing them at once to get your starting double. Scatterguntastic! If only I'd have thought of it about ten goes earlier.
- watching 'Pimp My Ride International', and getting disproportionately annoyed with Fat Joe. "That value-imposing tubby slug. Of course he drives a Skoda - he's in Russia, you corpulent fuck! Give us back Xzibit! Or have you already eaten him ?" etc. etc.
- keeping my housemates up ludicrously late by playing Slayer as loud as I could.
Perhaps it's better for all concerned if I just stick to lemon squash in future.
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I need to move
...to somewhere you don't need a car to get around. Cars are twats. This opinion is admittedly coloured by the fact that I know nothing about them; and so, when something needs fixing, I have to get a man to do it, and generally get in a flap. I just bought a car off Surf-Film-Maker Chap. It got through its MOT less than a fortnight ago. And now the engine is leaking like a toddler who's been funnelled a flagon of cider. I took it to a man. He filled it with sealant, and told me to leave it run for half an hour (about twenty-five minutes ago). He said if that didn't work, I will probably need a new radiator. Eek! That sounds pricey. It is also worth mentioning that, despite having got rid of a crap car at the scrappies recently, I still have three. This sounds very decadent; but the reality is that my driveway looks like a knacker's yard. One of them I could happily take to the scrappies now. However, the brakes on it are seized up. Wot this means is that is cannot reverse. As it's single-lane country roads with passing points almost all the way to the yard, I can see that the trip will end half way in a Mexican stand-off with a lorry, or a grockle in a Mondeo. If that happens, I will have to offer to reverse their car for them. I am about to don a skirt and crop top, grab my pom-poms, get back in the front driveway, and cheer on that sealant with every last drop of my depleting gusto.
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