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the desert grows three miles a year, it just grows, it just grows ive been trying to keep off the computer. its reading week, which is my week off from college. anarchically and illogically enough, its called reading week because we're supposed to spend it reading. those of you who have ever been students will not be blown away by my originality when i posit the theory that the powers that be at my college would have shown an awful lot more self-awareness if they had called it 'lie-in/doing the general knowledge quiz on page 152 of teletext/thinking about doing the hoovering, but not getting round to it/masturbating/sleeping/making unusual and mostly revolting yogurt-based pasta dishes which look not unlike like the runny pink slop winston smith is served in his lunchbreak at the ministry of truth/getting unfeasibly drunk and not having to worry about getting up at the cruel cruel hour of 8 a.fucking.m week'. it might not fit on the timetable but it would be a needle's-width away from the truth in my case, if the last two days are anything to fo by. my sister is mildly in love with the barman who works at the pub down the road from us. i can see her point- he is very pretty, and funny too. they have been having protracted conversations about 'guess who', the amusing 80s board game which involved identifying and isolating your given mugshot against a background of a myriad cartoon pictures of men with ginger beards and women with puffy miserable faces. when you had eliminated a select group of these by the power of your mind you then flicked down their little hinged plastic flappy thing, and it made a satisfying click-slap noise, like a little maraca. at my sisters behest pretty barman is trying to convince his boss that as well as yahtzee, and blackgammon, and connect 4- and all those other board games they have lying about in stylee pub-not-pubs which sell organic beer *brewed on the premises* nowadays- they should also have 'guess who'. not because we give a fuck about being able to play 'guess who' over our pints of organic (but not unreasonably priced, this being south-east london and all) beer; my sister just wants something to talk about to the pretty barman. but if they ever get 'guess who', were going to have to sit playing it for *aeons* as a mark of appreciation. and its really a shit game. 'is it a man?' 'yes.' 'does he have a long face?' 'no.' 'does he have a round face?' yes.' 'does he have a ginger beard?' 'yes.' is he bernard?' 'yes'. 'i thought so'. hardly fucking rocket science. the reason why im talking about guess who is that ive made a vow to myself that i am not going to talk about boys or fucking or makeup or relationships or other miscellaneous *gRrRlLy sHiT!*! for at least a fortnight on this diary. i glutted on the opportunity to talk about the above- mainly the boys and the fucking... and fair play to me, lets face it- for a month. now i want to talk about other stuff. so im going to. if i have little to say for a while, its because im not talking about boys or fucking or relationships or makeup or vibrators or anything else vaguely *!GrRrLlLyY!*! for the foreseeable future. because i do have other stuff to talk about. i really do. |