Glad work year is almost done. As Kev said, our job is "to construct something truly horrific with which we can bring humanity to its knees and shoot it in the back of the head." It's true. Today I wrote something so insipid that I actually choked on vomit as I typed. That is the nature of the beast.
What else can I say about the last couple of weeks? Been house hunting again. Looked at 2 places last night that seemed very promising. Both in Brixton again, but more Clapham North end - i.e. slightly less ghetto.
Lambeth borough is trying to attract yuppies and Guardian/Indie readers to the area by doing up places on the outskirts, but the heart of Brixton is still Coldharbour lane. Last Friday I took 2 steps down the street and someone offered me gear. Crack central. Even the squirrels are addicted.
I'm off to Cambridge for Xmas so this may be the last blog for a week. Looking forward to seeing Jeff and Anna. There's something special about Christmas in winter - mulled wine, mince pies, proper roast dinner. It all makes sense.
Hey, maybe I'll finally see real mistletoe! Last time I got fooled into a poxy horse faced Scotsman under a piece of green plastic. OK, I made that up.
In the meantime, I'll leave you with this chav Christmas tale.
There's this bird called Mary, yeah? She's a virgin (wossat then?) She's not married or nuffink, but she's got this boyfriend, Joe, innit? He does joinery an' that. Mary lives with him in a crib dahn Nazaref. One day Mary meets this bloke Gabriel. She's like `Oo ya lookin at?' Gabriel just goes 'You got one up the duff, you have.' Mary's totally gobsmacked. She gives it to him large 'Stop dissin' me yeah? I ain't no Kappa-slapper. I never bin wiv no one!' So Mary goes and sees her cousin Liz, who's six months gone herself. Liz is largin' it. She's filled with spirits, Barcardi Breezers an' that. She's like 'Orright, Mary, I can feel me bay-bee in me tummy and I reckon I'm well blessed. Think of all the extra weez gonna get on the social an' that.'
Mary goes 'Yeah, s'pose you're right'
Mary an' Joe ain't got no money so they have to ponse a donkey, an' go dahn Bethlehem on that. They get to this pub an' Mary wants to stop, yeah? To have her bay-bee an' that. But there ain't no room at the inn, innit? So Mary an' Joe break an' enter into this garridge, only it's filled wiv animals. Cahs an' sheep an' that. Then these three geezers turn up, looking proper bling, wiv crowns on their 'eads. They're like `Respect, bay-bee Jesus', an' say they're wise men from the East End. Joe goes: 'If you're so wise, wotchoo doin' wiv this Frankenstein an' myrrh? Why dincha just bring gold, Adidas and Burberry?' It's all about to kick off when Gabriel turns up again an' sez he's got another message from this Lord geezer. He's like 'The police is comin an' they're killin all the bay-bees. You better nash off to Egypt.' Joe goes 'You must be monged if you think I'm goin' dahn Egypt on a minging donkey' Gabriel sez 'Suit yerself, pal. But it's your look out if you stay.' So they go dahn Egypt till they've stopped killin the first-born an' it's safe an' that. Then Joe and Mary and Jesus go back to Nazaref, an' Jesus turns water into Stella
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