A nice evening. After yesterday’s drinkarama it was mild by comparison. Hopefully tonight I won’t have to go staggering about trying to find pain killers at 3am…

Some nice work at Daydream followed by a few pints with Roland in a pub called ‘The Barley Mow’ near smithfield market. A proper pub. The sort of pub that other pubs should use a role model. Cosy, wooden, small, full of nooks and quiet enough to allow pub-theses to be formed.

The older I get, and the more buggered my brain becomes, the more I seem to like RRRROCK type music (this includes all musical genres that have a brainless sort of “yeah man lets rock” attitude). Maybe this is one of the reasons why the death of Jam Master Jay upset me so much this week. Run DMC (and the Beastie Boys) was the first proper concert I ever went to see. I always though JMJ was the coolest member of RunDMC too – in fact maybe that’s why he had to die.

Well it turns out that SpecSavers are as good, as Vision Express are (in my opinion) crap. Today I had an eye test and managed to

• Get a new pair of frames and lenses
• Get another new pair of frames with my old, lovely lenses cut into them
• Not have the piss taken out of me for being a fatty

all for less than I paid for that pair of wanky memoflex.

Sometimes waking up early is quite nice. The sun is out, and so is no-one else. It’s quite calm and peaceful…Lewisham actually looks very pretty at the moment. Anyway, I’ve had enough of that particular sleep session. Most of it seemed to be spent dreaming about moving out of our house and into a skip…because it’s cheaper.

On thursday I managed to break my ‘unbreakable’ glasses. An old friend, Tina, whom I hadn’t seen for many months was down and so she was lucky enough to be able to accompany me to the opticians to get the frame fixed. Sorry Tina… The optician didn’t want to replace them, and instead decided to take the piss. Fair enough I suppose…must get pretty boring playing with glasses all your life.
The ‘memoflex’ part of the glasses had apparently started to rot away. His unarguable response was
“well when we sold them to you, we didn’t know you were going to sweat all over them..”

….You fat bastard ?

Well I’m happy to take this one to the papers, court, or the end of my life. But, in my opinion:

• Memoflex is a rip-off, and not worth buying.
• Vision Express Lewisham is run by wankers
• Certain scottish opticians should sort their facial warts out before attempting to insult customers based on their appearance

Everyone I know has a cold, and today it was my turn.
Colds these days aren’t like the colds they used to have when I was a kid. Nowadays they don’t just come and go, they linger. They appear, and linger for months and months…somedays you feel ok, others you feel miserable, hot and achey. It never gets extreme, but it never goes away…and all the time you sneeze and feel a little bit crap. Nice.

Had a meeting with AGRESSO today. I didn’t get an erection.

Another weekend that actually only lasted ten minutes. Achievements:

• going out for a night in Blackheath with some good friends, managing to eat and drink too much and generally being obnoxious.
• DJing…apparently. It seemed more like me putting on a couple of cds while Paulsy was having a piss if you ask me, but there you go
• Useful but mundane shit like buying some rechargable batteries, writing some PIC code, ripping some Hawkwind vinyl and tying up some loose ends from my dayjob.

A friend of mine got a suspended sentence this week….for posession of cannabis! This has pissed me off to a stupid degree. OK I know there are more important things to worry about at the moment like 90 hostages getting shot in Russia, an imminent war on non-americanism and Plue Peter presenters turning out to be (alledged) rapists…but fuck man, it’s 2002. London is full of gun crime, robberies, muggers, nonces, gangs of Eltham Geezers starting fights and plod has got nothing better to do than nick nice blokes for the crime of wanting to feel mellow and giggle at stupid shit on the telly.

Only my mum and dad could provide such entertainment. Not only did we get the best roast-beef dinner I’ve ever had, but we were also treated to anecdotes about:

• Calling the head of PYE records a cunt (in a totally respectful way)
• Getting arseholed on pints of complimentary champage at the PYE party where the head ‘cunt’ introduced him to leading members of the mafia.
• My great grandad getting caught with his shirt tails in the oven by Uncle Ernie….he was trying to dry the end of Ernie’s shirt to get the shit off that he had covered it in after a heavy night on th e piss
• The ugliest woman in the world who had a strange sexual allure and a load of kids who weren’t her husband’s.

Today I saw a new VW Beetle with the VW logo pulled off.
Whoever did that has to be older than 30. It brought back some very nostalgic memories of being 15. Amazing to think that Beastie Boys have had such a long lasting effect on the world. They also invented the term ‘Mullet’. What talented lads.

Hey – looking through the logs I discovered you can get to this page by searching google for the following things:
thickcunt
saddam and toture
crap gemini
PowerPoint sounds fuck
queen elizabeth hospital pfi
worst football strip
dr livingstone download apple
church veghead
anti capitalism call center
fuck british telecom
secret life of the office
anger management powerpoint presentation
paul oakenfold august pic
getting fired clip art
ladettes TV adverts
secret life of us piece of piss
indonesia news on september 11
tudors powerpoint
georgy girl dvd
gnokii and 3330
joke powerpoint
naked woman clip art
I got my passport renewed by mail
clogs hippy pictures
tiny window lock uk
clip art of a crap
crap management
massive pile of crap
god’s a cunt
if god wasn’t omniscient he would be insane to love us
fuck cunt crap bread
breaking into a yale lock credit card
god is a cunt
rolf harris nice day
old tv adverts
pictures of old crap cars
english arseholes
why england are so crap at football
fuck debt collectors
pay your fucking rent
indian takeaways pictures of they menus

Cool!

We’ve just been watching a hilarious TV comedy, set in a bizzare, surreal world where grotesque characters convey insane, and slightly disturbing, stories: Sunday morning religious telly.
Today was a ‘New Christan’ programme. Gone are the the church, the robe-clad vicar, the flowery hats and the organ-based droning hymns. Instead the ‘service’ is held in a large amphetheatre-style venue by people wearing very sensible suits and expressions of forced jollity betrayed by an obvious history of depression or mental illness. Next to the orators are the funky band. Hey, these guys are rockers and artists, they don’t wear suits. They wear cool dress-down threads: cords and chunky jumpers.
In between the patronising sermon segments, the band start to ROCK. A woman in an 80’s-style power suit starts singing the fresh new worship songs, punctuating each syllable with the most girly air-punches you’ve ever seen. With the animal rhythm and inspiring words
“you were higher and lifted up,
you were higher and lifted up,
you were higher and lifted up,
sun of god” (repeat x 10)
The audience cannot contain themselves. The glory of god is truly shining upon them, as only God’s glory can shine. They throw their right arms in the air to act as glory-recptors. Left arms obviously don’t work as well. Not sure why, probably because God probably hates the left-handed or something… anyway, right arms extended, swaying their hips and singing the words, the audience can take their minds off of the tedium and purposelessness of their lives for the first time all week. They can feel part of something big, and the despair lifts. The words become even more inspiring:
“king of kings, lord of lords, there’s no other
we crown you now with worship and honours
holy holy god almighty, jesus lord of all”
(repeat x 50)
The guitarist switches his classical guitar for a strat and starts to gurn as he plays an AOR solo.
The arms sway faster, the woman’s punches become more violent and the rest of the black-suits on the stage also raise their right arms to absorb the holy-rays.

Suddenly the whole scene has become eerily reminiscent of a Nazi rally.

“No Dougal, Fascists and Priests are not the same thing at all. Fascists dress in black and go around telling people what to do, whereas preists…..” (Father Ted)

Today I went to hospital to discover that the lump on the inside of my cheek isn’t in fact cancer, but the opening of a saliva gland and totally normal. “Everyone has one” the registrar told me, ” in fact you’ll find another one on the other side”. Which I did. I also felt like a bit of a pratt – on the other hand the GP didn’t spot it as normal either.

Queen Elizabeth hospital, a great example of why PFI is a terrible idea, was as cack as normal. Apart from sending me the appointment date by second class post which caused it to arrive only-just in time, I still had to walk several miles through the hospital to find “Area G” and even then I wasn’t seen until 40 minutes after my time. The area around the bus stop looks like a landfill site.

Even Norman Lamont was on the radio this morning slagging off PFI…but still, despite logic and common sense, the iron-heel of New Labour continues to march…