OK, so I’m sitting in my living room, on my comfy leather recliner with my feet up, BMX decorated bean-bag of my youth placed upon my lap onto which is perched my laptop, upon which I am typing. I’m listening to iTunes and the frankly awesome ‘Price You Pay’ from the album ‘War Stories’ by UNKLE is pumping through my Senheissers in a most pleasing fashion. I’m here because the people in the bottom flat are in the back garden having a party. They’ve also cranked up a BBQ, which unfortunately has seeped through my open windows to transform my previously clean and vaguely floral smelling bedroom and clean washing into a meat feast and carbon smell-o-scope delight. I figure I may as well use this time not being spent wrapped in the cozy embrace of duvet writing something for my blog.
Today I’ve spent in the company of my Gran, Poppa, and little brother. We spent most of it wandering around Llandudno, which was nice. I’ve been wandering around a bit more recently as the evenings have at last been respectable in terms of weather, and work’s been so hectic that I’ve been doing anything to not be sat at a computer when I don’t have to be. In fact it’s only this week that I’ve come to realise why my parents like going on walks - something I never understood as a child. Why anyone would want to go out and just walk - what on earth for?! Well, turns out when you’re sat inside all day watching beautiful weather happen, then go home once it’s gone cool or cloudy, or inclement in some other fashion, it gets irritating. Apparently the human creature needs outside time. So I’ve been out and about with and without camera during the evenings, which has been rather nice.
Wednesday evening was awesome - after work I went around to Ben’s where he, myself, and Vicki departed for a meal at Fat Cats. I encountered the worst fish and chips I’ve ever had presented to me, but being eminently British I did not complain, choosing instead to register my displeasure with a look of disdain and a touch of derision directed at the dry remnant of what I presume to have once been some sort of aquatic creature, and a side order of one half-heartedly cloven and enthusiastically over-watered example of vegetable matter. It wasn’t so much a plate of food as a culinary crime scene. My only comfort was that Vicki’s spag-bol appeared to have sustained no such brutal treatment, and neither did Ben’s plate of whatever it was. The conversation was pleasant enough to draw my attention away from the sensory protests emanating from my mouth, which was both a pleasant thing in and of itself, and a good indicator of the quality of the conversation.
After Fat Cats we had a drink in Varsity, where the new menu drew us like moths to a flame. It was unfortunate then when it turned out the new mixers were off the menu due to a lack of appropriate ingredients. I settled for a J2O anyway, which was pleasant enough. But none of that was the really cool stuff. No, the really cool stuff was after getting back to Ben’s, where we decided that the night was so clear we’d grab the sofa, take it into the back yard, and watch the stars. Added to that I hooked up my laptop to some speakers and provided some frankly brilliant tunes to add to the atmosphere. As it grew colder we transformed the sofa into it’s alternate mode of ‘bed’ and got under two opened out sleeping bags. Horizontal, in a bed, listening to Proem, Colleen, Craig Armstrong, Deep & Chilled Euphoria, Boards of Canada, Late Night Alumni, Slowdive, Susanna and the Magical Orchestra, Ulrich Schnauss, and The Verve - this is the most awesome way to watch satellites orbit, shooting stars blaze through the sky, and admire the vastness of reality whilst considering that each of those dots are incomprehensibly large balls of sustained nuclear explosions in the distant past. Being all snug next to an attractive petite blond doesn’t hurt matters either.
This weekend is a bank holiday, which means an extra day off work. I’m not sure what I’m doing with it yet, but there’s the possibility of Mike and Kate dropping by which would be brilliant. If not then I will be pestering Ben to get up at non-student hours to go do something before he starts work. Failing that myself and my camera may go for a trip.
Anyway, I’ve rambled on long enough that I can’t stop yawning, and my eyes are watering in supreme tiredness. I think the land of sleep awaits. Tomorrow I have a few ideas for blog posts that I really need to sit down and write. Why is it that when I’m in the shower I can formulate coherent and interesting posts, but when I step out I’m incapable of properly recalling them for transposing into articulate written word? I don’t know, but it’s damned annoying. If I remember correctly there was one about music, and another which was a psychological observation of my own behaviour. I’m sure you’re thrilled.