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my throat's in bits & my lungs are real sick i could plaster on a fake smile & ruin my life in style
So I had a free house. For about a day I alternated between whining because I was convinced no-one at all would come and mourning my hard disk that had failed and caused the loss of about seven years of my life. I cannot recall whether I actually cried, but I can conceive of few worse happenings. I played some cheerful music, ensured that I had some mp3s backed up on my (whisper it) second generation iPod and made the embarrassing admission to Catriona and chums that nobody actually likes me and I'd failed: unless they wanted to be entertained by me alone, they need not make the journey down here.

Anyway, just after giving up at life, things almost managed to sort themselves out and (to my eternal gratitude) more than ten people successfully navigated the route to my home. The partay itself was enjoyable and I hope those who turned up thought similarly. The best part was that people actually drank my homemade punch, despite it looking like an arse sandwich/stomach acid smoothie. I knew it would be a bad idea to serve ouzo but did it anyway. I imagine Dickolas was being a god.

So anyway, Holly and I gave each other hickies and never stopped holding hands. Abu was cuntishly attractive. userinfoTD attempted rape. I smiled when Sophie mounted me and later when she allowed me to rest my head on her bosom after Abu, userinfoTD and Catriona joined us to watch stars from my trampoline. Previously, Holly had kissed me goodnight when she left painfully early once again. However, my life was crushed when userinfoTD claimed to quote Sophie as saying "mehmehjonsofitmehmehgotboyfriendmehmehjonbonehollymeh" the next week.

Before I went to sleep, we listened to The Death Song and it was more beautiful than you can imagine.

Yes: stab me now.


On a day I was taken on a tour of Dorking by userinfoLaura and Sophie. This was prior to userinfoDavid James' party (mark two). They took me to the park to see the ducks and swings. userinfoLaura and I took two hours to convince Sophie to let us into her house, but she eventually relented. I met her parents and she self-consciously tidied up before letting us into her bedroom that was cutely strewn with old punk 12" sleeves. And then a userinfoWammie was met and a lift somehow obtained.

userinfoSeedy Dave's party ruled the world – I was super happy and danced lots. I hadn't smiled so much in month and months. userinfoLaura and userinfoGraham were persuaded to bone and they were utterly stunning together: it reminded me that life will be good. I necked my white wine and partied hard for some time before userinfoDaws drove me home whilst wankered like the murderous bastardo he is. I didn't want to die just yet.


On another day I went to Brighton. I was early and thus strolled across the seafront in the evening breeze by myself. I spied enviously on couples kissing beneath the peaks of stone then watched the old pier staring into the oblivion that can only be glimpsed when leaning over into an infinity of water.

I waited impatiently to queue for ages, but knew deep down not to worry for it would surely be a fantastic night. This was confirmed when, after a Kraftwerk tune and a bunch of other excellent songs, including Wish You Were Here, came on over the PA. Hope Of The States fucking ruled (big time emphasis on the fucking) and I'm now able to add userinfobellston to the People Whom I Have Met filter group. It was a "secret" gig and their first since Jimi hung himself, but the music just overwhelmed it all. Oh yeah: the support (Youthmovie Soundtrack Strategies and Komakino, I think) weren't bad either.

I think I spoke to an old friend at Haywards Heath station on the way back, but then you never can be too sure.

    mood: yay happy
    choon: Sigur Ros – Vaka
17 & you'redonewiththefuture ashirt & tieisyourreasonwhytoproceed apopularlifesentencethatsuitsyou
Seeing how rare my freedom is, a visit to London was in order for userinfoDavid and I. We were treated with the scariest train ride evar that passed through nine million deprived and graffiti-addled suburbs replete with the requisite preteen girls selling sex for crack. In all my considerable train-riding experience, I can't have ever taken this particular route before and was rather overwhelmed by the miles of concrete terraces and never-ending estates, not to the mention the really quite brilliant graf lining the tracks. Had it not been a famous "Sloooow Train", it would have been a wonderful journey. Taggin' it up, innit.

We avoided buses bombing through Kentish Town at mach nine, and staggered into the Bull and Gate. There we sat through the most hilariously camp mans I can imagine - Vilette, I think they were called. Seriously, the lead singer was like that fag Marco off Big Brother (yes, I've watched it once) to the power nine. He wrapped his legs five times around themselves and thus looked like he constantly was trying to avoid releasing an impending torrent of urination. The drummer was completely out of place and the guttar-man looked like a younger less-hott version of Robert Smith. I actually quite liked their choons and was too scared to speak to the chicks who came and sat next to me briefly.

Next were Designated Driver: hilarious emo but also pretty damn good. Live acoustic emo rules my face even though they were the biggest losers ever. userinfoDavid and I couldn't help guffawing throughout. I mean, check these lyrics (in all lowercase because it's just more emo): "and i fucking hate you so much right now because you've totally ruined my life and you're never coming to my party / but it sucks that i like you loads and now i'm gonna drive a waaahmbulance / crying all the way so the current can drag me under cuz life is just so so so tough!" But dude: I really do love this band. They had a troupe of underage girls supporting them who all sat cross-legged at the front and dried their tears on old love letters. userinfoHeysteve: this is how's it's done.

Had userinfoTD been there, even he could not have avoided crying a deluge of tears when the singer man hit everyone with heart-crushing lines such as "i'll breath out and hope to see you as i sit there calmly choking up water" in An Oceanless Coastline. Wrought with in emotion they followed up with "how long has it been since you dived off with no strings attached? / i was about to ask you if you wouldn't mind: would you like to share with me the rest of your life / i was about to grab you before you pushed away but i was too late" from My Cliff Diving Days (Memoirs Of).

Kiddies: so you've just bought your trendy thick-framed glasses, your girlfriend's dumped you and you've programmed The Samaritans' number into speed dial. You're sitting there locked in your room sharpening your rax0rs and in between the sobs thinking to yourself, "what next?" Well, for a start, these guys are essential listening. Honestly, they have much better crafted songs in every respect than Dashboard and his ilk so get downloading right now.

Anywayz: after the brilliance that was that, there was a brief break in which several people were met in including userinfodissolvegirl_, userinfoplug_in_phil, userinfoaurora_crash and an amazing French guy. I also was unable to resist purchasing the Designated Driver EP in order to recreate feelings of emo to the max in my own candlelit bedroom. And then we all went to the front for the main show.

Corporation: Blend really were superb. The keyboard man (I'm not nearly cool enough to know his name) was rather hott and produced ace square waves during Shutdown which was probably the most pwning song of the even. C:Beebies played a decent enough set and I recognised enough of the songs to make it a great laugh. It was certers worth trekking up to London to see them. I have nothing more to say, but roll on the summer when hopefully they'll still be touring their youthful asses off.

The train journey home was brilliant too. userinfoDavid and I were horribly intimidated the whole way back by some drunken cunts that were so obnoxious they scared off the couple sat opposite us within five minutes. I was worried in light of various experiences on public transport with aggressive people and their maladjusted consciousnesses. However, despite repeatedly poking a sleeping woman and throwing things at a middle-aged man who didn't seem to mind, they soon became decent enough blokes (albeit still terrifying) and gave Banks some money. Yes, really. Not only that, but I survived after userinfoDavid apologetically disembarked and left me alone at Redhill – instead of being killed, I, along with a man who look suspiciously like my bestest friend from primary school, befriended these goons somewhat.


userinfoBanks's party mark two highlight: completing speedruns on Quak [sic] without any use of the backwards button. Making other people play with about half the keyboard aliased to kill was fun too. Actually that was all fucking uproarious but, unfortunately, there weren't sufficient hott chixors to make me remotely in the mood to party hard. Rock 'n' roll...

    mood: emo to the max
    choon: Corporation: Blend - Tripwire
and my tears in league with the wires and energy and my machine
Japanese culture has consistently puzzled Western minds. The country used to be famed for its honourable ninjas, beautiful geishas and top-quality rice, but the twentieth century brought our planet dictators operating on an unprecedented scale and two world wars.

Post-World War II, the Japanese economy was exemplary on a global scale. The GDP grew almost exponentially, quickly rising to become the second largest in the world. During the eighties dear old Maggie Hilda was busy campaigning, fucking things up and systematically raping the souls of Britain's workers – meanwhile, far away from the hospital closures and decimation of the NHS, Japan was riding an economic bubble like that blue hedgehog in Sonic 2's Aqua Lake Zone.

After 1945 – with all the optimism and worldwide fraternity still floating about – Japanese culture began to permeate the rest of the world and likewise, they lapped up the products of our society with an earnest wish to dye their hair and grow up to marry an American (all despite those two nukes). Across those mountainous and earthquake-ridden islands, the kids were eagerly learning English, chewing bubblegum and learning to play baseball. While pachinko parlours' pulsing neon rainbows of hyperenergetic sensory overload and oceans of surging tobacco smoke were never likely to catch on over here, we certainly have our fair share of non-silicon Japanese imports.

You can now buy exorbitant raw fish in Marks and Sparks, everyone knows what sumo wrestling is and Judo has been in the Olympics for forty years now. We may not bother with traditional tea ceremonies, but we have animé and manga whilst even those who aren't fanfags play Pokémon and download hentai. Following closely behind the disturbing TV shows, subtitled Battle Royale DVDs and the bloody irritating ubiquity of all that Hello Kitty merchandise, was a chick who moved to London in 1998 and happened to be named Mika Handa.

Somehow, she gave rise to a crazy punk band known as Mikabomb. They've played hundreds of gigs throughout Europe, sound like nothing you've ever heard before and a Steve Lamacq quotation proclaiming them to be "the best band to ever come out of Japan" is repeatedly recycled on all their promotional material.

userinfoSam takes all the glory of discovering them for us (courtesy of some wanky book a relative gave him) and quickly lent the CD to Abu then me and then a bunch of other people with equally discerning musical taste. After finally finding the venue among Brighton's least reputable back-streets a bunch of chums first ventured out to see them play live exactly two years and three days ago.

Yesterday, on the day after userinfoSam's 18th birthday (a Wednesday that cunningly happened to my 18th birthday), a similar party of droogs embarked on an adventure up to London to appreciate the Mikabomb experience once again.

This is our storyCollapse )

When it was over we went home. Back at userinfoDavid's HOUSE, as my memory fails, I assume that we boned Catriona.


A few days earlier had been userinfoDavid's superb partay that took place due to his lands being devoid of p. units. It was ace although it was unfortunately marred and curtailed by my less-than-magnificent loss. Nonetheless, immense fun was had by all and the change was indeed refreshing as it happened to be my first night back home for some nine years. Highlights included the meeting of userinfoWammie, userinfoPolish Matthew, userinfoAndycallander, userinfoGraham, userinfoHeysteve, userinfoFjordy, userinfoDawstow, userinfoJadders, userinfoFiery Dean, userinfoCarlos, userinfoSaudi, userinfoNat, Woss and a userinfoScary Gay Dude and nine other mans, closely followed by peeing with Catriona and her pounding our crotches together on her bed. Also worthy of mention: the exchange of 'bone numbers with a cute girl named Holly (initiated by her, not I).


And then, Today by the Pumpkins came on Winamp 2.81 whilst a rainbow appeared outside my window...

    mood: positive
    choon: Underworld – Cowgirl
when every second lasts a thousand years and every shot glass holds a million tears
I was recently reminded of an incident I witnessed whilst coming down from taking 'shrooms in a field in Canters. A jeep pulled up to that strange hand-operated train crossing and a young kid hopped out to pump at the lever. They drove across and, just before the kid got back in after letting the barrier down again, a collie (or whatever) jumped out and sprinted away across this massive field. It was barking wildly all the time and just kept running – running far for the sake of running. The bright sun was beginning to set and the dog instantly disappeared into the swampy grass by the various rivers. Meanwhile, the dude had come out of his car to calmly help his son look for their pet. All the time this was happening my shitfastdrugcrazed thoughts were slowing down and coming back into place while the schizophrenia slowly faded away.

There I was stood on the top of this fucking hill watching these guys search for their beloved animal while the sun splendidly dropped below the horizon. I was silhouetted there - a feeble man blackening the last bright rays of a billion-degree summer sun which melted between colours as it was refracted by our smog. I watched their unsuccessful forays for perhaps half and hour before walking back through the parks, fields and real-life people back to my room.

[to be inserted in this space: something else – another memory of beautiful times I was once able to recall]


Mount and I spent a double chemistry practical painstakingly constructing a glass giraffe from capillary tubes. We had to gently warm the brittle material over a Bunsen then, just as it began to soften, quickly tug it apart so that it stretched but stayed completely intact. The full extent of our combined creative talents were required to fuse the giraffe's various body parts together and creative an animal of just the shape we required. When the giraffe (by then a delicate piece of immeasurable beauty) was finished, I presented it to Mr. Rodwell as he possesses an inappropriate affinity for the long-necked African ruminant. Soon afterward it had been destroyed when I accidentally knocked it off my shelf. Sam Mount and I only found out afterward that the lessons had been set aside to contribute toward our final coursework marks for the two-year course.

Also: my Reading 2003 wristband had finally disintegrated to the extent that it fell off on Friday, 19th March 2004.


I tried to drown in your flame
somehow i let the fire escape
and i can only blame myself
a rubber soul is hard to sell
you pull me in and push me out
you tie me up and tie me down
you give me space, i'm locked in chains
i want your fire, i need your faith


And then the following: no sooner had my whole delusional deal with Sophie's insecurities and her insane claims to have wanted to bone me died down this came alone. I find out that Clare actually has the hots for me (uh, wtf?) just at the same time as I find this chick called Holly who I think is really rather hott. I don't understand why Sophie would tell me that she once fell for me any more than why nothing ended up happening because of it. And then, after I've exchanged several pounds worth of SMS data with Holly, Clare scarily PHONES ME UP out of the fucking blue and begins weighing up her qualities and jealously asks me not to bone the other two. The weird thing is, no matter how imaginary it ought to be, this is real and this is now.

However, I'm sure emoness will prevail. Knowing how bad everyone in the world fails at life, it'll all be gone in a couple of days.

    mood: in denial of arrogance
    choon: Hell Is For Heroes - Sick/Happy
you're so beautiful when you shine for me
A gig was attended and two brilliant mans – userinfoguntrip and Ivar – were there with userinfoBanks, userinfoSammie and me. Another scary drunkard was encountered and some cock who looked like a gayer version of Legolas raeeeped a hottie. Drive Like You Stole It were the first band and they are such overrated gimps that I have zero qualms about proclaiming that they were fucking shit. Their music was beyond mediocrity and, to top it off, they were irritatingly unfunny and unhott. The bassist was the epitome of faggishness and did nothing to dispel the bassists = cuntfaces stereotype. Everything he said was retarded at he looked like a bad mix between Jack Osbourne and DVD. I was later to successful persuade userinfoDavid's hottest dog, Muffin, to consume the free plastic demo CD userinfoWammie obtained from them.

In comparison, Amplifier weren't all that offensive and, while I wouldn't rate them as something amazingly special, they certainly qualified as at least "good". Hilariously, I lost count of the number of effects pedals they used at about thirty four. The first couple of songs were pretty rocking but turned out to be indistinguishable from the remainder of their set. Still, I felt they were worthy of my money and hence purchased a decent enough single.

But really the whole night was about Winnebago Deal. I first encountered this band over eight months ago when userinfoDavid and I spontaneously decided that it'd be nice to see Kinesis again. It turned out to be a fantastic gig even without the whole Rachel fiasco and Winnebago Deal actually really stood out that evening. Never before had I seen some much energy come from just a guitar and some drums. Two blokes with stupid long hair and the same name manically thrashed and squealed to about three people on a tiny stage. They treated me to by far the loudest gig ever – I was still suffering from tinnitus almost a week later. I bought the mini-album at once (I was even willing to withdraw cash from those private cash machines with an exorbitant charge built in) and repeatedly revelled in their bone crushing riffs – sadly at much lower volumes – in the comfort of my own bedroom. userinfoDavid and I couldn't help but love a band with such a hilariously shit name, one lyric songs and the choon entitled Whisky Business.

Imagine then our delight when we learned that The 'Deal (our affectionate appellation) were to be playing Reading 2003. They were on at the Carling tent on the last day (coincidentally straight after Kinesis). userinfoDavid and I trekked over to the stage only to find it completely surrounded by millions of absolutely huge old and tattooed beer-guzzling biker dudes. We fought out way to the front and the Bens emerged to possibly the most violent mosh ever seen in this country. The fat sweaty men jumped about everywhere and anyone who got in their way was crushed. I was winded several times and my shoe was almost ripped in half when it fell off but, despite the exhaustion, it was utterly worth joining in the circle. The 'Deal didn't fail to impress and even pwned their entire audience will the inspired yes-it's-a-climax-no-it's-nothing song of hilarity. Everyone in the Carling tent that Sunday afternoon came away from Reading a stalwart Winnebago convert and it was my favourite show of the whole weekend.

Since this band had provided the loudest gig of all time and my deadliest gig ever, I was really looking forward to seeing them play at the Camden Underworld. I was pleased to find that the venue was much smaller than I remembered and still had a very hellish style. With the sunken pit in front of the stage, it ought to make for an amazing show. That night The 'Deal didn't quite beat their own volume and energy records but, nonetheless, were really rather fucking incredible. Hundreds of Londoners were assfucked again with a slightly shorter version of their pwning song and they effortlessly flitted between epic twenty minute sonic assaults and intense shotgun blasts of songs lasting a few dozen seconds. There was some cunt at the front with his girlfriend who wouldn't leave the barrier despite disliking the music which pissed me off, but overall the gig was fantastic. There were some utter dudes in the energetic crowd and we all went berserk when they played the single, Manhunt. It was an ace gig and I picked up a split 7" and a CD afterward.


Listen up: I bought f#a#∞ on vinyl in December and it's actually the most beautiful record I've ever seen and heard. From the handmade card cover to the flattened penny inserts and eerie photography it's so personal and just the way records ought to be. Each limited edition copy is a gift of love – a little heartspill of distilled emotion dedicated to you, its owner. The record is truly majestic and both sides just modestly ooze through your soul and fill it right up with atmospheric symphony. It's based in a landscape of schizophrenia that attacks the fears of modern-day living yet it feels like it was made for you alone to hear. I find that when played loud enough whilst walking down the street they can be quite trippy – go check them out.

    choon: Seafood – Pleasurehead
red stain blossoms and all you have is kisses
Mock results:
3/30 in year (Yeah, right - I swear nobody beat me)
39/43 in year (I'm not sure how people actually did worse than me in this)
Further mathematics
19% (M3), 41% (P4), 48% (P5)
11/14 in year (It sucks more because, after missing the proper exam, I got to cheat on M3. But why the fuck did I do best in P5?)
Everyone seems to think it's such a big deal...

Converge: I actually got out one weekend and went wild. I risked all sorts of crazy punishments by deciding not to go to the six hour detention I'd been given for no reason whatsoever. I experienced my first hardcore gig which was utterly hilarious (all the sXe kids who think they're so tough pretend to punch the floor and "let it all out, man!") and Hannah actually physically tried to rape me, but I wouldn't let her. userinfoHarriet seemed happy, I started spending time with Russell again and I spoke to Fay for perhaps the first time ever.

Snowball fight: I looked out of the window and noticed that powder blue snow was starting to fall. Two minutes later the ground was covered with a delicate icy-white blanket and the final bell of the day rang out. Illuminated by the last dying rays of sunlight a beautiful scene spontaneously erupted: about two hundred children in full Canterbury Dress shrieked and frolicked in an orgy of magical pleasure to a backdrop of the spotlit cathedral. The snowball fight lasted over an hour and, by the end, the Green Court was a hacked-up muddy wreck, but frostbitten fingers warmed up over supper and the smiles lasted well into the night.

userinfoBanks: Catriona worried enough about userinfoDavid's failure at attendance, work and life in general enough to email me. Of course, I have no idea what's really going on having been away for so long (or at least that's my excuse). Even if I were not in prison, I'd probably have no clue. After all, did I even notice that he was taking Ritalin? I tried to 'phone him but he was being an unresponsive cunt and, to be fair, can I blame him? Sharing my concern with userinfoSammie Wammie helped, I guess.

School: And then there's my inability (indisposition?) to help suicidal userinfoHarriet who's pissing everyone off at the moment. It's lazy and beyond selfish, I know, but I can't bring myself to do anything. What's more, Hannah's being a moranic and irritating fool by (once again) baselessly worrying about being fat/her boyfriend/GCSEs/shit like that. As for my school work: after six weeks working on coursework for the überbitch, I was so glad there would be nothing I'd ever have to do at school again. I'd just made up with Hannah after another fight and I'd decided not to give a crap about all my grades, but something else just had to come along, didn't it? And then my parents 'phone up to shout at me.

Sophie: Yes Sophie. That Sophie. So she comes on MSN when we're both a little tipsy and we get talking once again just like we used to. I haven't spoken to this girl in ages and I'm past the point where I fancied her like anything because I finally realised it was never never going to happen. But anyway, after an hour of embarrassment and stuff like that, she finally blurts it out just before the internet gets cut off. I scream and it takes a few evenings of frantic web-based conversation for me to find out that, cruel world as it is, the incredibly beautiful and altogether adorable Sophie once actually wanted to bone me (or something) in the past. Jesus; like no way. She said that she felt regret because she never took her chance while it was there but, oh Sophie, how little you know...

I think I realise there are things that are more important but, just … GAH.


Okay, as much I loathe to actually post this, the best I can do is promise my next entry won't continue the faggot-angst.


A full glass of room-temperature red wine and borrowed CDs is all I could ever need.

    choon: Elbow - Ribcage
Oh fucking hell...
I woke up early this morning.Collapse )

    mood: surprised surprised
    choon: David Bowie - Rock 'N' Roll Suicide
hi huh-i hyper hyper-media-ocrity you don’t need to emerge from nothing you don’t need to tear away
I've been far too busy so this summary will have to do:

14th December

My godmother came round on Sunday but all I wanted to do was sleep.

15th December

On Monday we (userinfoDavid, userinfoSammie, userinfoKappo, Catriona, a girl called userinfoJadders and a guy named Dave) all went out to MBA at The Monarch/The Camden Barfly. While it was fantabbidoobie in every single way, I remembered that I hate all people especially when they're in groups larger than two or three and intoxicated by moran juice. That day the opiate of the masses was almost enough to make me go all straight edge and gay.

Still, I met Ivar from school there and gained a huge degree of respect for him. Also, userinfoguntrip texted me from a pub with Quiggers and userinfomiss_sparkle was also there with some lesbianic friend. The Fallout Trust were supporting and were rather ace as were Orka. Unfortunately, I can remember very little about the music either band played beyond good/bad qualitivity. Miss Black America ruled our faces and we bopped violently while Cooper was a dog throughout if you could ignore his painfully bad slogan t-shirt. It was great fun but, by the end, I wondered to myself when we all became so damn predictable. It also pissed me off that it always has to be me who leads the children around.

16th December

Tuesday night was karaoke again which, despite starting off much less than promising, ended up being a good laugh thanks to the previously-reviled moran juice. JI asked me a pseudo-philosophical question containing genuine profundity about the nature of sanity and I only laughed at him later. It was wonderful because I rediscovered popz0rs with userinfoTD, ate a kebab, they played Breakfast At Tiffany's and I gaily joined arms with a bunch of people I used to love. I really enjoy spending time will utter asshats.

17th December

And then on the Wednesday we went to Rob and Arthur's 18th and all got horribly horribly wankered due to ingenious drinking games. Some cunning pals wrote a large assortment of obscene messages about his hott sister with fridge magnets and Weasley didn't even annoy me once. However, I made the foolish mistake of attempting a double front flip on his trampoline with a bottle of wine inside me and ended up contemplating the bonage of Mini Galley's chums over a marvellously bad kung-fu movie. I need to de-sex myself immediately. We finished watching the film then slept while userinfoTD and Robbie P choked on their copious vomit. A good time was had by all.


I'm happy and it's mostly in light of my being mentioned on the front page of the MBA website.


27th December

For Christmas all I received was a healthy dose of a plague that almost killed me. On Boxing Day I lay on my bed fitfully drifting in and out of consciousness and utterly convinced that I was going to die. I listened to Absolution and it was the most beautiful fifty two minutes of music I'd heard in such a long while.


Sometimes, when I have spent enough time by myself, I come to almost believe that life ought to be like it is in the films I watch.

I can't help myself living only for the present.

    choon: Fisherspooner - Emerge
you can't push it underground we can't stop it screaming out how did it come to this?
On Saturday I went to userinfoDavid's house and tried to persuade him to come to see Miss Black America in Tunbridge Wells with me. I very nearly succeeded, but the prospect of not boning Cassie meant that his companionship for the night just eluded me. What ever happened to "bros before hos", man?

And so I had resigned myself to spending an evening running around like dickheads in a stuffy black room with smoke machines and tinny sound effects shooting coloured light at each other. To make it worse, it wasn't the usual gang of dudes going to hax0r quest because userinfoKappo had gotten a bunch of twelve-year-old glossy magazine-reading gimpesses to tag along too. Waiting on the platform with these examples of errorism was enough to persuade me of the futility of wasting another night getting depressed at the shit I do to stop being bored. That, and I realised Mini Kappo wasn't likely to let me fuck her in the bum.

And so I took my life in my hands and jumped off the train just before the doors closed shouting "see ya suckers!" I ran round to the platform going in the opposite direction. Waiting with userinfoBanks had made me miss the fast train, so I spent the next hour or so taking a horribly convoluted path along unfamiliar train routes to eventually get to Tunbridge and then Tunbridge Wells. On the way I lost my rail pass and train ticket in my arse-pocket and was forced to buy a whole new full-price one which was a little buggeringly annoying. Still, once there, I managed to find The Forum all by myself and marched in straight past the intimidating youths hanging around drinking ethanol.

I spotted DVD with some chixor and said hi then walked over to where the bands were playing. Much to my surprise, Steve and some chick who's hilariously called Gigi (hello, Mini Daws reference) were already there and I tried to chat to them over the incredibly loud amps. We sat down for a while and then, to my absolute horror, userinfothe girl formerly known as miss_sparkle spotted me. We too tried to speak for a while but eventually the decibel intensity of the music won out. I felt hungry and thirsty, so ventured out in search of a cash point. After forty minutes of searching I had found nothing, although I had delighted in aggressively approaching a terrified old man waiting to be mugged before cordially enquiring about the whereabouts of the most proximate usury establishment. He was zero help and I gave up only to notice a floodlit hole-in-the-wall just round the other corner of the venue. Damnations.

With monies successfully procured, the requisite alcoholic beverages were purchased and I went to position myself in preparation for Seymour to emerge. Due to my cash-machine adventure I'd missed most of the support bands but what does that matter anyway? Miss Black America were fantastic once more. They handed out free crisps, Cadbury's Fingers and satsumas while userinfomiss_sparkle took embarrassing photographs (which I've spent an hour searching for with nil success). Quiggers played all the favourites and, once again, allowed me to sing along with him. He even allowed himself a dirty little seasonal diversion and sang to Slade's Merry Christmas Everybody for a huge laugh. It was all wonderful even though the crowd consisted of about five people (no, really: five). I danced around making a big fool of myself but afterwards, even Steve and Gigi (who, by now, seemed quite cute) appeared to have enjoyed it. They walked me back to the station where I bade them farewell and joined a bunch of cuntish drunks on the train platform.

Thankfully all my worries were unwarranted because the last train actually turned up and, as an added bonus, I met Dr. Mallion on there too. This man is an utter lord and he was wearing his usual suit and carried the same briefcase as at school. He asked me about my recent interviews and I politely answered his inquiries. Unfortunately I was unable to determine whether he smelled as much as usual because my breath was saturated with smoke and beer. But I got back home okay and I survived another night out by myself and it was fun. If going to university provides independence in the same vein as this (minus the inconvenient rail travel and plus friends), I'm relishing the opportunity.

    choon: Muse – Time Is Running Out
pour my life into the paper cup the ashtray's full and i'm spillin' my guts
6th December

After my day in London and night in Cambridge, the next twenty four hours were mainly spent on The Interviews. I was fed manky bacon with nice mushrooms and too much toast by my kind host, then I put far too much sugar in my coffee. I rushed them into letting me pay and leave so I could get to the university in time, and a brisk early morning walk along with the kids going to school got me there only a minute or two late. My first task was an hour-long computer-based critical thinking/IQ test. I'd done a couple of practise questions from the website and aced them so I hoped it would be all right – in the event, I managed to come out reasonably confident.

Next we were shown to a room where we were to make ourselves drinks and wait out the day. There were already a bunch of people there gaily chatting in the way annoyingly confident people can. You know: smiling and joking as though they've already made bestest friends. Sitting smugly in the corner was this über-bitch called Charlie "I'm the only girl who does politics and Daddy has taught me to vote Tory for my entire life" Wheeler I recognised as having left King's the previous year. Seeing as she hadn't recognised me, I made the incredibly brave (in my opinion) decision to approach her. Incredibly enough, I almost instantly regretted my choice as she was almost as odious as I had convinced myself/remembered.

Over the course of the next hour or so, I got chatting to a couple of chaps and we bullied the guy who'd already had his interviews to give us hints and tips. Then, feeling peckish, I went out to down with one of them (I never really caught his name) and picked up a mince pie. At some point the three of us got talking about Reading and began to dreamily reminisce about just how good those days back then had actually been. This bloke I semi-befriended was actually a remarkably decent guy it turned out and, what's more, he claimed to be quite into Aphex Twin et alli. I thought to myself for a few moments about this unspoken bond between anyone who's ever been to Reading and the remainder of my day was spent between the room with tea, diluted squash and biscuits and the various interview rooms.

Just before the first interview I went across the road to a pub because I desperately needed to go over my notes and calm my nerves with a pint of ale. After that I waited outside the interview room for almost long enough to conclude that I was at the wrong place, but my perseverance was rewarded by a grilling on chemistry by two big scary mans. Before I came up, I'd really been regretting applying for Natural Sciences seeing as I really just want to do just maths and physics without any of the gimpish Biology crap. I regretted it even more after I foolishly told them which topics I'd covered this year and got horribly confused about all they mentioned to do with electrode potentials. In fact, the only thing I got marginally right was the very simple differentiation from first principles of x3, but then I even buggered up the binomial expansion. Still, the beer definitely helped.

The next interview was with some scary man who quite clearly meant business. He was very intelligent, had no time for losers or wasters and, judging by his quite correct remarks, disdained private education. He asked me the only proper physics questions that were posed the entire day most of which, I hope, were tackled fairly well. I was also set an order of magnitude estimate that was something like "how many atoms are there in an onion?" and which I coped with.

Finally was some woman in love with gay materials science who had clearly misread my Section Ten and began by asking me all sort of bollocks about quasicrystals, none of which I had any clue about. After sorting that out (I'd actually written about the brilliance of φ), I went on to make foolish errors even before she asked me what would be wrong with a car made from cardboard. I honestly didn't give a fuck. By the time I left Downing College, it was getting dark and I wondered whether it would be the last time I ever walked across that gravelled forecourt.

The train back from Victoria was cancelled, then on time, then cancelled again and ended up being delayed by about ninety minutes (much to my annoyance). I had no clue what was going on. All in all though, I'd thoroughly enjoyed myself over the last two days.

10th December

My long-standing belief that good films ought only to be watched late at night, alone and in the dark outside of a cinema with a bottle of beer has recently been confirmed.

I continue to enjoy living as I am wont to do.

    mood: content content
    choon: Red Hot Chili Peppers – Otherside