Waking up to Adam Green again

I realised, shortly after posting yesterdays misery-fest, that I hadn’t mentioned any of the things I’d actually planned to write about, like what I’d been up to and things that I’d seen and fun (this adjective is meant in an ironic way) things like that. So here we go.

On Tuesday I was leaving my house and I got as far as the bus stop before I realised that I was still wearing my slippers. I used to do this all the time when I was at school. A couple of times I went to sixth form in my pyjamas, which is roughly about the time I started making sure my pyjamas were at least vaguely respectable. In parts of my first year at uni I hardly ever got dressed and would happily go to the shops without any shoes on (not as bad as going to Berlin in your slippers, but then that’s a whole different story). Anyway, I hadn’t done that in a while but it was quite amusing to see that age does not bring wisdom.

But then the most traumatic thing in the whole world happened (okay, maybe I’m being melodramatic, but you will understand when you read on). I went back upstairs and put on some proper shoes, before going back downstairs again. As the front door slammed shut behind me, I bounded down the steps before stepping on something that gave a resounding CRUNCH. “Ah,” I thought to myself, “that sounds like a wotsit… but why would there be a wotsit on the garden path… maybe I should look and see what it is, being a nosy beggar and all… AAAARGH IT’S A SNAIL!!” I hate hate hate it when I stand on a snail. There were bloody loads of them as well. I’m only glad that I didn’t stand on one in my slippers. To be honest, I don’t know how I avoided the little bastards. Urgh. I actually felt sick. Years ago, my youngest brother and I moved loads of snails in the yard at my parent’s house so they wouldn’t get run over by any cars. That’s how lame I am when it comes to animals. I don’t think I could kill anything. Sometimes I think I would make a really good Jain, walking along with a brush in front of me, and then I could starve myself to death in a parody of my teenage self (I wouldn’t be a Buddhist though, not after what they said about me, and anyway, they drink piss, so they can fuck off). For fuck’s sake, when I was really little I tried to set up a fucking hornet hospital. Hornets! I ask you. Anyway, I got my comeuppance when I was at a tennis match and got stung by one of the fuckers, I’ve still got the sting in my finger if anyone would like to see it.

I sent my CV off to a million different places yesterday and I’ve got an interview tomorrow. Now I’m absolutely petrified. I know that I’ve been going on about how if I got an interview, I would be able to charm them. But that’s all bravado. I only said any of it because I didn’t think I’d get an interview. What’s more likely is that I would start talking behind my hands and laughing nervously and get a glimpse of their notes right at the end, which would say something like “do not hire this retard”. Anyhow, tomorrow should be fun, especially as the interview is being conducted in French. Still, afterwards I am going to meet up with S, and as she says, have drinks and hugs and stroking of hair, which will be lovely.

Tonight is going to be really weird because it will be the first time in over a month that I haven’t spent the night with N. in fact, since the beginning of April, we have only spent two nights apart (when I was in Suffolk). It’ll be the first time I’ll have slept in my new bedroom. Annoyingly, the mattress on my new bed is about 5 cm bigger than a normal double mattress which means the fitted sheets don’t fit properly, so I’ll have to find a way of sleeping on the bit of sheet that is on the bed. God, it’s a hard life. I had planned to go and sleep in #1’s room (I know I won’t be able to sleep by myself, and she has let me sleep in her bed before – I don’t try and shag her like JA did to JS) but her boyfriend is staying round tonight, and however much she loves me, I don’t think she will allow that. So yeah, a night by myself I think is the plan, and I can’t even smoke in bed anymore as the window is the other side of the room.

My tales of woe are such that they’re making my OWN heart bleed. I hope you all feel the same.

Was noch? [I have no idea why I keep thinking in German all of a sudden. Yesterday I was trying to tell R that I had a headache but I could only think of the word kopfschmerzen and she looked at me like I was a retard.] The days of Hotel Peckham are coming to an end, with everyone leaving. I have quite enjoyed having so many people in the flat (I say that like it’s my flat: I guess it goes back to my old philosophy of home being wherever you have your pyjamas). More people seems to equal more fun, and certainly more cigarettes and sachets of instant tea and brioche being called broccoli and actually having breakfast with someone as opposed to by myself and being woken up by the sound of a hairdryer. What I will not miss is fucking Tikka Baked Beans, which give off literally the stench of death. I was telling my friend at ballet about these monstrosities and she said that Baked Beans should only be consumed during a nuclear fallout, if you’ve eaten everything else. Which I think is the correct sentiment.

In a bit of an ongoing saga, R is having man-troubles. She’s been seeing this guy for a couple of weeks and they had an argument the other day because he said that she owed him 15p but she’d just bought him two pints and paid for a couple of games of pool. Class. Still, she just sent me the funniest email ever, with pictures of a chav wedding. I've posted the best one up here for your enjoyment.


And in a final burst of brain activity, I just wanted to say, oh my god, did anyone watch the football? (I sure as hell did not as it’s a shit sport) More to the point, did anyone see on TV this morning that there were football supporters crying? Ha. Gutted.