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< March 29, 2004 | index | June 11, 2004 >

So the easter bank holiday weekend is over.

Four days of absolutely no rest. Not that I dislike the things I've been doing, or the people I've been with, but after a while you just want to be alone for a day. Well I'm still on Easter holiday and everyone else is back at work so I have that, now.

Good Friday

Me and Caroline spent most of the day cleaning the flat. We've just got hold of a tumble drier (brand spanking new but for free :-) so we were also going through a huge backlog of washing. This took until 3 o'clock when I listened to Torquay lose to Bury. All in all a bit of a crap day.

Then came the evening. Went over to a friends house in Paignton and drank lots of absinthe. It's funny, when I drink that stuff I don't really notice that I'm getting drunk. I still feel sober - quite clear-headed although I obviously am not.

Anyway. We then went out and ended up at a crap called the Crazy Horse. It's a horrible, dirty, over-expensive place full of tossers, alcoholics and kids, but it's also about the only place to get a drink in Paignton after eleven.

It was here that I bumped into the biggest wanker in the world. I normally have quite a lot of time for bouncers; they have a pretty shitty job, and although many of them are meat-headed idiots I don't tend to have trouble with them. This one, for some reason, took exception to me. Now I'm old enough now to realise when I have been a prick, and I wasn't; I'm not a threatening-looking person, I'm skinny and wimpy-looking, I wasn't being aggressive or anything, as we were waiting for a friend to come out of the toilets he decided to push me down the stairs. I stuck my hands out in an attempt to keep upright and he took this as me attempting to attack him and took this as a reason to roll me down two flights of stars, smack my head against the wall a few times, and finally chuck me head-first onto the pavement outside.

The final humiliation is the way they then just shut the doors. That's it. You're left lying in the street, on your own, in pain, full of anger and all you have for company are a bunch of kids hanging around outside kfc who all assume you've been kicked out for being a twat inside.

Christ am I pissed off!


Woke up s-l-o-w-l-y...

First I noticed my headache. OK. Then the sick-feeling. Right. Then I noticed we're not at home, we're on the floor at my friends house. OK. Then... why am I in so much pain? My arms, my legs, my head, my back... my back is excruciating... what's going on?

When the memories come back... the absinthe, the club, the skinhead-bouncer, the stairs!. It was only, however, when I got home and lowered myself into a bath that I realised just how many places I was hurt in, though, I couldn't even wear my shoes because my ankles hurt to much, I couldn't sit down properly... oh and I have huge scratch marks round my neck where twat-face had grabbed me.

Caroline was off to her mother's for the day, so I sat at home any did work. I didn't really feel like doing anything anyway.

Easter Sunday

Down to my sister-in-law's.

My sister-in-law has three children, and decided it would be a nice idea to move nearly forty miles to Bere Alston (a crap village nearly in Cornwall and just about in Dartmoor) to move in with her boyfriend and his three children. That costs a lot in Easter eggs!

Now I don't do well with that many people in a house; small-talk, politeness, saying the right things, pretending to be interested, etc, I can often get around this by persuading some of the kids to play football with me, but this time had to settle for finding a book to read. Unfortunately my choice of book was a dictionary of grammar, which I found interesting, but everyone else thought was really odd.

I suppose I can see why.

In the evening, my Brother was running a pub quiz at the Jolly Judge; a good pub in Torquay town centre. Not full of grockles like the rest of them usually are (especially over easter). Me and Caroline turned up to find most of my family there, my mum and dad, my cousins, my uncle who's flown over from Vancouver to play in some sort of exiled Torquay United fans match after the real game tomorrow. Plus two of our friends, one of which had come down from Cardiff also for the match tomorrow (it's a big one, a six-pointer against Oxford, a win could push us closer to automatic promotion).

This is a sort of trial quiz my brother's doing so we split into three teams to make it look more successful. In case anyone cares, Our team got 50/50 (which wasn't bad, considering age seems to mean so much in these quizzes. If you're under thirty-something you're just not gonna get some of them.

Oh. The quiz was won by some oxford fans down for the game tomorrow. Ha!

Easter Monday

This months is one of those months where money is tight. I mean really tight. Basically, there's a couple of weeks before we'll get any more and we have none, and we really haven't got enough food, either. We've borrowed off everyone we can politely borrow off, we've been to all our friends and families houses for dinner... oh well. At least we could get enough to buy some fags and go to football today :-)

Three-fucking-nil to us! Second division here we come, and all that! I've never seen an away teams fans leave that far before full-time before. They bought down quite a lot, probably a thousand, and then they all started leaving with, like, twenty minutes to go! I mean they were three-nil down with only ten men left, but seriously! Is there something in Oxford that breeds disloyal fans or something? Maybe they were poncey university students roughing it with the proles for a laugh instead of watching that crap game that toffs normally watch.

Well, hopefully no-one reads this far, 'cos if they do I'm in for serious downvotes from any oxford fans, oxford uni students, and rugby fans if they do. Mind you, can't see those making up too much of e2...


Today, my grandmother, a 60+ year old woman was swindled. She lost $1.200.000 chilean pesos. (1U$D = $600 pesos)
She is not a rich person, she has worked her whole life.
I don't care much about the money. She won't belive it even before I opened the envelopes that supposedly contained a $500.000.000 lottery ticket. The sadness in her face: that's what really hurt. It's very difficult for me to write this down because the language. What I have learned: 60 years old it's not an age to save money.

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