this is the big one.

i don't expect you to read this in one sitting.

julie said, "why have you got 'death' written on your hand?"
i looked at my hand. right enough, 'DEATH' was scrawled on it in large blue, the 'h' finally spreading across several fingers and a knuckle and the 'd' loking slightly too isoceles. i burst into laughter.
"i can't remember. i wrote it down to remind me of something that i didn't want to forget, i thought writing something arbitary would just me of it, i can't think for my life what it could have been, except that it had nothing to do with death."
"why 'death' then?"
"first thing that came into my head."
"ah."

this happened in brighton the other night. several other things have happened in the meantime...


on the way north, i stopped over in london to see girls girls girls.


you can tell i'm drunk, because i'm drawing on ed's teeth.

pictures for/of bertie:

yes.


bertie


obscure bertie


blurtie

it was well excellent, and the night was stupid. drawings were drawn, hats were insulted (by rugby shirted stag-doers) cities were traveresed an a very interesting meal was cooked, of which i can remember only that it was largely fried cucumber and milk. then the girls and i played anal cunt chicken ('i like it when you die' is played loudly, and the last person to go to bed wins), which we all drew; i thought it was a very good record. lyrics are a little rough.

then i went home, the most overhung i've been for a long time - not in pain, but finding it very difficult to leave the flat. straightened myself out by the time i got to ashbourne. i learned that well on her way to fully accepting the country inside her, my mother had arranged to serve tea on the lawn as part of the local open garden mini-fest. 50p cup of tea, 1.00 cake slice.. we made over 170 quid. i say we, but my job was to sit in the garden and read my book (sadly, bobble hat and fising rod were unavailable). other than that, the most interesting thing that happened that week was helping to rake out 16 tonnes of gravel. interest be damned, the manifold valley is a marvellous place to be.

actually, what was interesting was the dice-man like moment of finding a bratz top trump while cleaning the holiday cottage, picking it up and turning it over and fuck, it's chloe. you know how i was writing about fate? it's so much fun believing in the power of co-incidence. (note to self and danny: must write 'the tao of don't panic: philosophy and the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy'. we'd make a mint)

the next sunday was fascinating because it involved me blacking out in the kitchen after dinner. we were watching some bushcraft program and the presenter was having his penis inverted and pushed back inside his body, as was the custom of the men of the tribe he was with. it was when he said "ooh, that doesn't feel right, i feel faint" and nearly collapsed himself that my vision started to mist over with those speckly squares one gets sometimes. the program moved on, but i was getting worse; i stood up to get a glass of water, not wanting to seem like anything was wrong, and then decided to go to the toilet; if i was going to be sick or lose conciousness, that's where i'd want to be. by the time i hit the door, i couldn't really see or hear much anymore, and i could just think enough to lift the latch, after which i my brain seized up completely and i fell onto the tiled floor. i can only have been out for about ten seconds, the next thing i remember is tim's hands on me, propping me up against the shower cubicle. i recovered fairly quickly and spoke to the nhs direct nurse, who was at once patronising and very helpful.

the next day, i saw the doctor who was a jolly fellow in a simpsons tie, and told me i had a relatively low blood pressure and took a sample of my blood. the results would be back on... friday. the friday i was supposed to be going down to bournemouth to see the christ punchers! i wouldn't know until i had to leave whether i was fine to go or not! oh the excitement. i still felt quite fragile, so what better to do than watch a 'psycho-sexual thriller'? yes, i finally got around to watching my copy of mullholland drive. riveting stuff, which i very nearly understood. stayed with grandma susan and thouroughly enjoyed her company, finally bought the adventures of luther arkwright (after growing up with a signed poster of it on my wall) by bryan talbot (not bolland, duh) and my own copy of irony is a dead scene. met up with rufus/alun and his girlfriend, took part in a pub quiz and drank guiness shandies (guiness for the iron, shandy for the lack of alcohol). the next day my dad took me for lunch with ann mitchell, who was selling her house (see this post) to move to london. i saw those dark wooden corridors for the last time, the courtyard, the warped floors.

on friday then, on the 'phone, the receptionist looked over the test results. all fine, she said, except this one.. 'hba052'. there's no data from it. either it was inconclusive or it wasn't carried out. or something to that affect; being the receptionist, she didn't know how or why or what the test was. i'd have to speak to the doctor himself later. but if i was going to make it to bournemouth - at least five hours away - i had to go then. i took my chances that i was all clear and had shell drive to ashbourne to get the derby bus. of course, we were running five minutes late with the traffic, so we turned down the derby road and found a bus stop. we waited, you know, in case the bus was late. nah. five minutes went by, we must have missed it. of course, the only reason i'm bothering to write this is because no sooner were we going the other way back to ashbourne than said bus drove past us. oh, memories of schoolbus chasing were unlocked as we found a suitable place to turn around, then got all the way to the outskirts of derby where i was dropped off, got a different bus and made it to the train station. when i spoke to the doctor, he said the test that hadn't been carried out, long-period diabetes, was unneceassary because it was covered by the other ones. i was well and truly fine, which didn't explain why i fainted - i must have just been ill - and made my mum say 'hmmph', because she's always thought me mildly aneamic.

i was in bournemouth. i feasted upon 3 bags of crisps and a fursty ferret and put some depeche mode on the jukebox, and made felications with thom, paul, and tim - the christ punchers. when they went to soundcheck, i found myself talking to two guys, the spitting image of two friends from school. it's great meeting strangers and having to talk to them because one finds oneself saying exactly what's upon one's mind; in this case, what i'm going to do with my life, the subject of a heated discussion immediately before i left.


a disappointing picture of the christ punchers.

thom admits to the christ punchers basically being a crap pub covers band, which is somewhat undersellig them, as the prog-metal original 'legacy of pain' and their gang-of-four-ish take on santana's 'smooth' demonstrated. sadly, now the first album and the merchandise is out in the world, it seems that they won't be able to change their name to something less used, unless they just have the cheetah picture as their name. anyway. bournemouth people were lovely.

seemingly no sooner had i got back to brighton on sunday, then jo came for a couple of days. over this period i had a curry a day for three days (plus chip shop curry sauce the day after). i just had such an insatiable craving, maybe it's all the hot weather. on monday night, we had so many options; sly and robbie, turds, patrick wolfe, smog.. instead, we played some daft and hilarious party games, drunk on heat (and wine). tuesday i rearranged my room into a much nicer shape, wednesday i continued to cane my todo list and watched 'casino' with simon who munched his way through an entire pot of brand ice cream (i could only manage half my tub [different brand] which i left in his freezer as a guarantee of my return). i got the feeling scorcese really cares about his films.
erm.. i think that's it.
hope it was enlightening.