Friday, 15 April 2011

I was going to open this post with the paragraph below this one, which I was fairly content with, but then I happened to click on 'view blog' by mistake during the all-important writing phase and read my previous two entries for the first time in months. They made me laugh as I recently sent another angry email. Got me absolutely nowhere again too. Thinking maybe I should stop sending angry emails.

I think I just committed twitticide. I realised after much soul-searching (and one particularly harsh but fair comment from my girlfriend) that it was a pointless exercise. I mean, I'm not Louis Spence or Jeff Brazier... nobody wants to hear about me. Also, those heady days of tweeting gold ("... because I'm wary of stollen goods" I'm looking at you) are way behind me. I peaked too early and no amount of "Lewis Hamilton. Boiled egg" tweets were going to save me, much as I liked them. The world has moved on, and it's time that I faced up to it. But I blazed a trail, matey. Make no bones about that.

Yeah right. So here I am; crawling back to my trusty blog, tail between my legs. Well I'm sure it must be my tail... it wouldn't be anything else at that length. Oh dear. I'm reading Frank Skinner's second autobiography at the moment, so don't be surprised if the odd sprinkling of smut comes spurting out. All over the keyboard.

Woah, I think I hit a new low there. Sorry.

Anyway, I'd intended this post to be much longer than this. Some kind of triumphant return or something... but then I went and made the ludicrous choice of putting David Bowie's Scary Monsters album on the stereo. I mean, really, I've never, never, ever been able to write this kind of thing with music on in the background. Even the most inoffensive, soothing music I could find would render me powerless... I struggle to piece even the most simple sentence together (this paragraph has taken the best part of half an hour now, jumping back and forth) so what the fuck I was thinking when I opted for this album I have no idea. But I can't turn it off! Teenage Wildlife now... man, that guitar work... those crazy high notes he starts wailing around the 6 minute mark... what a record.


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