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.