Oh Nine, What A (Non)Year

2009's nearly over and thank fuck for that. This year, I quit my job and moved back to Fareham with the parents (what the hell was I thinking?!?), have struggled to find work since, attended my first funeral, watched too many people go in and out of hospital willy nilly and probably nearly died myself a few times over (mind you, that's quite often the sign of a good night out). It's seemingly gone from bad to worse in the last few days, with my brother back on the booze, making a complete arse of himself at every opportunity (not to mention the fact that he seems to have laid claim to my bed. Erm..) and everybody just generally despairing at this ridiculous state of affairs.

At least it can only get better from here, right?

Still, there have been a few highlights of '09, and it's sure to end with a bang tomorrow night (cheap bubbly, meow meow and good friends should see to that!).

I guess in a weird kind of way, moving back to Portsmouth has been a highlight in itself. Okay, so I hate the place. Like, really, really hate it. And I'd rather be living in London or Brighton or Leeds or just anywhere that's just, y'know, a bit more happening. But at least I've still got some awesome friends 'round here (first and last soppy thing I will write in here, I promise). Being able to see more of the best friend whenever and wherever is always good, and even if we are stuck in Portsmouth, we can still manage to have a good time no matter what.

we like shoes

The obvious Tommy & Trashit highlight this year was no doubt Field Day. Okay, so Soph was a sour bitch through most of the festival (WINKZ) while she was coming down, but we still managed to get utterly shitfaced on a no doubt dangerous concoction of drugs and somehow stayed awake long enough to dance all through the after party (Erol Alkan slayed). Sure, the coach ride back from London wasn't much fun at 9am, but who cares when you've just enjoyed 24 hours of unadulterated fun, caught Fake Blood in a tiny club in LDN and probably spent a whole month's wages on utterly ludicrous shenanigans. It was the best day of the year. Probably.

Oh, and Hackney sniffer dogs ain't got shit on us.


So, let's end the year with a bang, bring in 2010 like we mean to continue : drunk, high and in the amazing company of great, great people.

Yeah, I can raise a New Year's toast to that. Chin chin.

So, Beth's birthday was pretty uneventful, comparatively. She was clearly hammered by the time I got there (about 8:30pm, I'd be willing to bet that she was drunk a considerable amount of hours beforehand, mind) and proceeded to get us chucked out of the two pubs we entered, for being too ratarsed. Other than that, and falling over a bit, and puking out the side of a car by midnight, it was all really quite dignified, to tell the truth. Her friends weren't even aresholes, darnit. Here's hoping I'll have better stories to recount once New Year's has come and gone!


All I've been doing since is sitting around, sleeping, trying to write and reading On The Road by Jack Kerouac, splendid piece of work. About halfway through now, think I'll be picking up a copy of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test next. Or working my way through all the books about Stalin and the war that I got for Christmas. I'm not actually that interested in Russia and it's involvement in the Second World War and the Cold War, but I'm sure they'll be an interesting read, all five or six of 'em.

Tomorrow it's off to the social, to try and scrounge some money off the state. Hell, I've been putting it off for a good few weeks now, but I finally figure that a, I'm broke and b, they sure as damn hell owe me something, so I'm biting the bullet and stepping foot in that hell hole we call the Job Centre. Sleeping on the sofa tonight too, my brother turned up and needed my room to crash the night, so I'll now have to deal with the unpleasantries of the dole queue and the dictator like staff with a stiff neck, a sore head and a short temper.

Oh Joy.

Mistletoe and Whine

That's another Christmas done and dusted, then, and thank fuck for that. Twenty one of them down now, hopefully they’ll start getting a bit less awkward in years to come. Sitting around, waiting for everyone to fuck off so that you can have a drink (an immediate family full of recovering alcoholics is not my idea of fun), the only escape an hour or so’s worth of walking the dogs, being forced to watch a rather racy Pink DVD with your parents and grandparents (twice. So that Dad could ‘test the Blu-Ray’. Yeah, right).

Back to the good times, tonight, though. Boxing Day means its Beff’s birthday and everyone’s heading down Little Johnny Russell’s. Well, I say ‘everyone’, what I actually mean is a bunch of her friends. God, I hope they’re not all dickheads. Just need to figure out how the hell I’m going to get there now (Boxing Day public transport really is horse shit) and see if the crowd that turns up are anywhere near bearable (I really do HATE 18th’s). Should be fun.

Actually, I think the last time I was at LJR's was before I moved back to Portsmouth (seven months and counting, oh dear). Sinade and Soph got kicked out for snorting ketamine in the toilet. This was after we'd only just narrowly managed to convince the bouncers to let us in, due to me wearing a chain around my neck which he recognised as being stolen from the One Eyed Dog. We're all set for some kind of disaster tonight, then.


By the way, I’m not actually a crack addled junkie. I titled this blog after the name my ex-girlfriend and her group of friends gave themselves back when I was fifteen. Meeting that girl was the first day of the rest of my life ..