Salaam!

Hello Monday.

If you weren't so full of smiles and private laughs to myself, I'd curse you. However Monday, because you're treating me fairly well, you're alright with me, old friend. You are after all, only the second to worst day in our 7 day week. To confirm, good to bad, days are as follows :

Saturday
Friday
Sunday
Thursday
Wednesday
Monday
Tuesday

Probably best to leave that one there as it's 1. boring. That's it.

As some of you may or may not be aware, I have a little issue recollecting events/people/everything when I've been slightly drunk, so I'll offer a snippet of things running through my mind relating to the weekend just gone. This may include people, funnies, quotes, events, music, images, places, whatever... you know, it really depends where my thoughts go, but I'll try to go chronological at least. Try, operative word.

Car. Sleepy. Dirty Cash. Lanes. Curry. Wine. Sleeps. Early. Service stations.

Wait, let me just stop here. This list is pretty all encompassing, but the latter half of the weekend is almost GUARANTEED to offer more. In my mind anyway, as far as I erm, remember.

C's house. Tubes. Soho. Coffee. Angry fuck? Fatcats. Wine. Wine. Wheelie Bin. Takeaway waiting area/VIP room complete with MDF tables and cobwebs. New girls. Plastic cups. Wine. Taxi. You're a cow, not a human. Get him sacked. Home. Dancing. Wine. GRINDR. Electro Boy. Hip hop. Let the dog see the rabbit. Voicemails :( Nice ears. Sleeps.

Breather..

Morning. Tango. Hula Hoops. Glasses. S. Stories of street urchins and general fumbles. Wine. Cocktails. Catch ups. L! C's. Wine. Gin and juice bus. G-A-Y Bar. I wish I were a gay man. Traipse. Incidents. Phone calls. Chats. Bar. Wine. Spaniard capes. Heavy metal rickshaw. Sonia. Old cunt. Thanks Aston! Dances. Wine. Paul. C's Tom. Laughs.

(I am laughing to myself loads now.)

Geezers. DPR? DPR. There's only a certain amount of times you can hear I love you. No socks. I like your handbag - DON'T TRUST THEM. Laughs. Beers in cups. Chicken Balls? Chicken Balls. Sammink for the veggie. Want to try it on, look like more of a cunt? Sometimes I just go out with my passport and a monkey. £75. Grey haired scouser. Pie and mash? Taxi. Then my dad had a good year so he bought a house with a swimming pool. C's. Dancing. Laptops. Raps. Leopard. Foot. So I walked through the valley of the shadow of death... I gotta feelin. BOOTS :( Just don't break anything else. FIRE! RAPE! Sleeps.

That's really it. That's my inner monologue for you right there.

Boring to others isn't it? Nobody promised excitement.

If these words don't paint a picture, don't express why I've been glad to get out of Stoke, then perhaps this
goes to explain a little further. Now I'm back home. Hi Stoke.

RJB
xxx

PS. I'm Arabic today :)