Saturday, 23 June 2012


It's been a heteromorphic, heady cocktail of varying mental states over the past few weeks.

To summarise: 

I was noted as a 'twat of the tram' on this blog 'Priority Seat Thieves' (May 24 entry).
A someone saccharine start to a courtship soured.
I turned 24. Celebrated it at The Grill on New York Street. Nothing like a slab of rib eye flesh to man up over certain situations.
Lost my car keys (to this date, they remain lost)
Went to Rome for a 6 days. 

I don't tan. I turn into a human dot-to-dot. & with 37 degree heat, my abundance of freckles multiplied to wild proportions. Apparently they're quite endearing, I'm impartial to such views, naturally. 

In a non-cliched act of relaying, I'll be narrating my interval in Italy, omitting the snorefest facts, and presenting my own chateaubriand of calamities. 

The spread will present:

Fashion scar(e)s
Mothers quest to find tea, with milk, and hot
Orienteering skills (lack of)
and inappropriate literature at the Vatican

We'll call the following extract, merely part of the Bernaise. 
Michelangeo once described Rome as his tormenting lover and with sights like this, I'm inclined to agree.

Male sightseeing (top 3):

This sonny jim was just minding his own business at Il Fico

This chap was a man of few words. English words that is. 

Cheeky spot at the Vatican whilst waiting for Benny boy.

It's all culturally uphill from here. Ish.

Wednesday, 6 June 2012

Word Association Game.

Hormones. Semi or skimmed. Falling over. Angst. Flowers. Telling the time. Losing a game. Ice. Green. Teal. Doreen. Focus. Speed. Exit. Wolf. Breezy. Graze. Venus. Delight. Highlight. Blind.

Toothpaste. Fresh.

Monday, 4 June 2012


I like receiving cards. 
I really do.

but 'To Victoria, from X' doesn't cut the mustard. 

In our hungover states of perpetual hatred, a friend and I bandied around a few tough love card greetings & cackled throughout. 

Break a leg (No, really you bitch).
Good luck (you'll need it).
You're leaving. End of message.
On your engagement (I give it a year).
Sorry to hear of your loss (was I left anything in the will?).
Marriage: years of heartache, mediocre sex, and giving a woman your house.
New home. Hope the psycho in the ceiling isn't murderous.
New job. Same shit. 
You can recover now, I've already taken your job.
Happy Anniversary. I hate you.


Mo Wang, entrepreneur. 

Saturday, 2 June 2012


The below image aptly abridges my current mood.
It might have something to do with a hangover.
I couldn't possibly say.