I could probably justify posting this if I had some kind of evidence that anyone actually reads it. Still, its going to be posted, and you won't like it (everyone who isn't reading this).
Here is what I did with my week:
Monday -
Bought jeans
Tuesday -
Burnt Jeans
Wednesday-
Baked jeans
Threw jeans off a steeple
Thursday-
Took jeans back to shop on account of their invulnerability
Friday-
I went down Manchester (I am currently living away from manchester on acccount of some stuff that has happened). True, true, true. I stayed in my brother's girlfriend's cottage in Fallowfield, which was decorated in gay. Ace! There was also a cat living in it - a cat that looked just like a tiny owl. It was called Evie. I liked the cat, but thought it meant trouble. So I stood on it.
Saturday-
We left Manchester in high spirits and drove to London. I drove my engine at a trillion miles an hour, and yet it still took 3 and a half quantities of time to get there. I deduced from this that London was at least two thousand miles from anywhere and drew a time/speed/distance graph to prove it. It didn't prove it, so I sent it away.
We had gone to London because it was the occassion of my friend'd dad's wedding (he is a big boy in the cabinet - woo!), which was to take place on the terrace at the Houses of Parliament. Splendid! However, I was surprised to learn that there is a rat that lives in the pipes at Westminster that often terrorises MPs and civil servants, and on Saturday, wedding guests. The rat is called Pinky on account of it's black fur. It has roughly the same size and dimensions as a mule, and it talks with the accent of a pirate. I thought that this was dreadful news, but luckily, June Sarpong was there and she dealt with the situation with her hands and fists. Great! Shit!
SUNDAY!
On this day, we drove back to Manchester. A man in a uniform in a cafe at a service station in Oxford explained to me that the journey would take exactly the same amount of time as it would to drive exactly the same distance in another country, like China or Kent or the USSR, regardless of how fast or slow that country is! I left Oxford feeling sad, but refreshed and confused. I arrived home later on, as did most other people.
Then I bought jeans.
None, all and some of these events are not, in fact, of any factual relevence, but some of them are. I'm glad no-one read it.
Here is what I did with my week:
Monday -
Bought jeans
Tuesday -
Burnt Jeans
Wednesday-
Baked jeans
Threw jeans off a steeple
Thursday-
Took jeans back to shop on account of their invulnerability
Friday-
I went down Manchester (I am currently living away from manchester on acccount of some stuff that has happened). True, true, true. I stayed in my brother's girlfriend's cottage in Fallowfield, which was decorated in gay. Ace! There was also a cat living in it - a cat that looked just like a tiny owl. It was called Evie. I liked the cat, but thought it meant trouble. So I stood on it.
Saturday-
We left Manchester in high spirits and drove to London. I drove my engine at a trillion miles an hour, and yet it still took 3 and a half quantities of time to get there. I deduced from this that London was at least two thousand miles from anywhere and drew a time/speed/distance graph to prove it. It didn't prove it, so I sent it away.
We had gone to London because it was the occassion of my friend'd dad's wedding (he is a big boy in the cabinet - woo!), which was to take place on the terrace at the Houses of Parliament. Splendid! However, I was surprised to learn that there is a rat that lives in the pipes at Westminster that often terrorises MPs and civil servants, and on Saturday, wedding guests. The rat is called Pinky on account of it's black fur. It has roughly the same size and dimensions as a mule, and it talks with the accent of a pirate. I thought that this was dreadful news, but luckily, June Sarpong was there and she dealt with the situation with her hands and fists. Great! Shit!
SUNDAY!
On this day, we drove back to Manchester. A man in a uniform in a cafe at a service station in Oxford explained to me that the journey would take exactly the same amount of time as it would to drive exactly the same distance in another country, like China or Kent or the USSR, regardless of how fast or slow that country is! I left Oxford feeling sad, but refreshed and confused. I arrived home later on, as did most other people.
Then I bought jeans.
None, all and some of these events are not, in fact, of any factual relevence, but some of them are. I'm glad no-one read it.
xx